


Service at Old Winchester

by Septembers_coda



Series: Service at Old Winchester [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dom/sub, Fantasy, Light BDSM, M/M, Master/Servant, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Orgy, Pining, Porn, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:39:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 112,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7453165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septembers_coda/pseuds/Septembers_coda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel had loved Lord Sam since he was thirteen years old. The damaged, heroic, tragically beautiful younger Winchester brother had retreated to the remote, bleak, and haunted northerly fiefdom of Old Winchester after the terrible Demon War.</p><p>That made Old Winchester the only place Cas wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is A WIP to be posted as often as I can manage, every couple of weeks , hopefully. It's grown beyond what I thought it would be, and as of Chapter 32 I am introducing some new plot lines, so I expect it to go on to be the length of two novels rather than the one I originally planned. I hope you enjoy this exploration of the effects of PTSD, a dom/sub romance, and personal growth integrating these in a medieval fantasy setting.

Castiel was homesick.

He’d never believed it could happen, that he could miss the noise, the chaos, even the rough play of his older brothers, who were always stealing his few, precious books, laughing at his scrawniness that persisted no matter how much he ate or how hard he worked, and looking sidelong at him when he refused to go drinking with them and flirt with barmaids. They were thugs, but, he now realized, they were _home._

He sighed over the pot he was scrubbing. More than likely he would never see any of them again. He could save a few coins from his wages to send a letter home, but he doubted any of them would write back. Surrounded by family in their home, they wouldn’t miss him the way he missed them, if at all. Perhaps Michael would return a letter, out of a sense of duty, but he knew the stiff, businesslike response he would get from the eldest brother he barely knew would only make him feel lonelier.

His mother, who’d been raised from her dirt-poor peasant status by marrying a merchant, could not write, and his father…

His father was not his father.

He’d long suspected it, from whispers he’d heard among his father’s merchant friends, and three years ago, he’d overheard Uriel and Michael talking, and it was confirmed.

“We’ve got to figure out what to do about the bastard, you know,” said Uriel in his cold, casually cruel way. Him, Castiel definitely did _not_ miss. “The rumors are hurting Father’s business. He’s got nothing against the boy, but he’ll be of age soon, and Father can’t ignore it forever. What if the boy wants to marry, and asks about his inheritance?”

“Mother really… while Father was away those two years and I was training at the warrior’s academy?” 

Castiel had never heard Michael sound so vulnerable and uncertain. He was always sure of everything. Uriel, the next eldest, had always been his confidant. Castiel didn’t understand it. Anyone would be better than Uriel.

“Yes. Father had to establish liaisons with those foreign traders; it’s why he’s so successful now. Meanwhile mother was establishing a liaison of her own.”

_“Uriel.”_

Castiel didn’t know how Uriel was able to stand up to that tone. No one else could, not even their parents.

“You wanted to talk about the truth. I followed Mother one day and found out about it. It would never have come to anything, of course, if she hadn’t gotten pregnant.”

“But she was… I mean Mother’s… well, she’s _matronly._ If a man’s looking for a mistress…”

Uriel shrugged. “It’s hard for us to see as her sons, but Mother was a renowned beauty in her day; that’s what caught Father’s eye. Why would he marry a peasant otherwise? She had nothing.”

“I don’t like the way you talk about Mother sometimes, Uriel.” 

Again, there was a warning in Michael’s tone that Castiel wouldn’t have ignored. He didn’t like the way Uriel was talking either, but he was reeling from what he’d heard. When it seemed that his brothers weren’t going to talk about his parentage or his future anymore, he crept away to his attic hideout so he could think.

He’d been trying _not_ to think about this for years, but now there was no shadow of doubt to hide behind. He was the youngest of eight children, seven of them boys, which made him fairly redundant already in terms of continuing his father’s business or receiving any inheritance. His father had never been unkind to him—in fact, he’d visited far more punishment on Gabriel and even Balthazar than he ever had on Castiel. Gabriel was four years older than Castiel and second youngest, and he’d suffered a strapping, bed without supper, or repossession of his playthings about every other day. But when Castiel behaved the same as Gabriel, and his father caught him, Father looked coolly at him a moment while Castiel stammered with shame or tried to explain, then simply looked away, acting as if he couldn’t see him. He often did this when Castiel had done no wrong at all, too. He accepted Castiel’s filial affection, even absently returned it at times—less and less as Castiel got older. When one of the older kids spoke to Father, he advised them, argued with them, lectured them, or laughed with them. Not with Castiel. He answered when Castiel spoke to him, somewhat distantly. That was all.

When they’d been little, Gabriel had complained that Father favored Castiel because he never punished him, but he had gradually stopped saying that. Later, Castiel sometimes thought he caught Gabriel giving him an odd look on the occasions of Father’s not-punishments. He always just grinned if Castiel caught him, but in those rare seconds before he did, Castiel, looking back on it, thought it was the most serious and sad he’d ever seen his merry trickster brother look.

It all made sense now. If Castiel was illegitimate, Father had no cause to care how he turned out or if he shirked his responsibilities. His future was of no concern to… should he stop thinking of him as Father?

What mattered was what he was going to do now. He had less than three years left before he turned eighteen. When he did, his… not-father would most likely turn him out with nothing. He guessed that Father had agreed to raise Castiel to adulthood, either to save face or to keep Mother’s affections, but Castiel had never felt loved by him, and he had no reason to believe he would do anything to help him make his way in the world. Mother had never exactly stirred herself on his behalf, either—when he’d been very small, she had been affectionate and attentive, but as Castiel grew older, she seemed to take her cues from Father about how she regarded her youngest child.

He would have to make his own way, and as the shock and fear faded, his true feeling was relief. If Father had no obligation to him… well, it was mutual. He was free to do as he would with his life, free as none of his brothers were. He now realized that on some level, he’d always known what he wanted to do with that freedom.

By the time Mother called her sons to supper, Castiel had the beginnings of a plan.

* * *

“Service academy?” Father said vaguely, after the third time Castiel explained. He frowned distantly, and Castiel began to worry he wasn’t going to answer, as he hadn’t the first two times. Then he said, “Well, I suppose you can work your way through.”

“I can,” Castiel said quickly. He’d known he couldn’t ask for tuition. “Most people do. I just need you to sign off on it, that you release me from my obligation to the family business.”

There was a long silence, then Mother said quietly, “He’ll sign it. And you’ll eat supper and sleep here rather than at the academy so you needn’t pay for that.”

Father glanced at her, then muttered, “As your mother says.”

“You can’t go into service at King’s Bastion.” Michael unexpectedly entered the conversation, and Castiel flushed at his flat tone. “It would be an embarrassment.”

Michael seemed surprised, and Castiel surprised himself, when he sat up straight and glared at Michael. “I’m going to Old Winchester,” he said.

In fact it was the only reason he was going into service. He would never make a warrior, he knew, and the war was over anyway, so service was the only way he had of meeting the only goal he’d ever had: to be near the youngest Lord Winchester, Sam.

His parents and his brother must never know, but Castiel, though he loved his brothers and his mother and even, painfully, his not-father, there was only one true passion in his heart, one sliver of meaning in the shadowed, incomprehensible life he’d been born into, and that was Sam Winchester.

Lord Sam was the last and arguably greatest hero of the Demon Wars that had ended five years before. He had been taken by a Great Demon, the leader of the terrible crusade that had taken the lives of thousands of Lawrence’s citizens, bathed their land in blood and despair and turned the very skies black. The royal army had believed Sam gone forever, and the war lost at last, until his brother carried Sam’s seemingly lifeless body out of the smoke of the Winchesters’ last stand. Against his father’s orders, Dean had infiltrated enemy lines to find his brother, and against all odds had found him alive—barely—a shell discarded by the Great Demon, whose fate was never discovered.

But the moment Dean brought Sam back, the tide of the battle turned. Sam came out of his stupor, and he and Dean led the last remnants of the King’s Army in a desperate action that drove the demons back to the portal they’d come through and forced them through it. 

No one knew how Sam had done it, why the demons, who had been a horde of ravening, nearly-invincible destroyers hours before, fled before him. No one knew how Sam had closed the portal, or what had happened to him in the demon camps from which no other human had ever returned. No one seemed to remember that Sam had been just fifteen when he saved the world, or that the strange, reclusive lord he had become was not the bizarre old man one might expect to retreat from the world as he had, nor even a mature man. He was only twenty, barely a man yet at all, only five years older than Castiel.

The Demon Wars had launched the only-obscurely-noble Winchester family into highest royalty. King John now presided at King’s Bastion, and Dean was his heir. John and Dean were champions in their own right, sitting in hero’s arraignment in the capitol, but Sam, changed by his sacrifice, was different. He did not reap the reward of his heroics, or even the benefit of his family’s love. By all reports, the brothers loved each other without reservation, but it was not enough to keep Sam at King’s Bastion, where he and his father were perpetually, and very publically, at odds. Instead, Sam had returned to claim the obscure lordship he’d been born into—the remote, bleak, and haunted northerly fiefdom of Old Winchester.

That made Old Winchester the only place Castiel wanted to be.

Castiel had loved Sam since he was thirteen years old. He barely understood his own love, and wondered if there was something wrong with him on a soul-level. Had he a woman’s spirit in a lad’s body, that the only touch he wanted, the only face that stirred him to desire, was a man’s? But he did not wish to be a woman any more than he desired romance with one. As he grew, he learned that there were others like him, but that these desires were largely ignored in the people who felt them, and only whispered about—never spoken of in polite company—by everyone else. 

Those whispers were made about Sam Winchester. Castiel’s constant, most desperate prayer was that the rumors were true.

Cas had seen Sam in person once, at the celebration of Lord Dean’s appointment as heir. He had slipped through the crowd to get a glimpse of his idol, and he had always believed that Sam, riding quietly on a light-stepping, gentle brown mare behind Dean’s huge, flashy black charger, had glimpsed him, too. All other eyes were on King John and Dean, but Castiel’s were only for Sam. Sam’s beauty clenched his heart like a fist and would not let go. His distant, brooding sadness, barely concealed by his polite, lordly half-smile, had intensified that beauty to the point of unbearableness, and Castiel, caught by it and by his own painful gratitude for Sam’s sacrifice, could not look away as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Sam had met Castiel’s eye, he swore, and for just a moment the lordly mask had melted into a sad gentleness, the polite smile into a real smile, and Castiel knew he would never love anyone else.

There was silence at the dinner table while Castiel clasped this treasured secret close. Finally, Michael said, in an oddly mild tone, “That’s halfway across the world.”

“It should be far enough away, then,” Castiel said bitterly.

No one said anything more, and two weeks later, he was enrolled at the academy; two years later, headed halfway across the world.

* * *

Castiel crested the rocky slope and paused, stricken. Even through the haze of his exhaustion the beauty pierced him. It was greater than he’d imagined, lovelier than any illumination or painting could convey.

Old Winchester Castle wasn’t really a palace by modern standards—not like the great towers and grand marble halls of King’s Bastion in the capitol. It was ancient, rambling, and made of the lovely green-brown stone the county was famous for, which stood out against the dramatic darker green of the pine forests around it and the sweeping, snow-crowned, blue-grey mountains behind. Many wooden buildings surrounded it, old and solid and with the look of purpose rather than vanity, function rather than grandeur. Yet grandeur it possessed nonetheless.

Castiel had long ago, in some way, stopped believing that it really existed. He had chipped away at every obstacle that stood between him and it for nearly three years, long after he’d stopped believing he could succeed. The journey alone had taken eight months. Somewhere along the way, he had turned eighteen. He was a man now, and couldn’t turn away from this man’s path. Once begun, there was nothing to do but go on.

He stood, staring. He had left his homeland, his family, and all that he had ever loved behind. The way had cost him every cent of his money, most of his clothes, and as of yesterday morning, even his shoes. He was barefoot, bruised, cold, half-starved, and nearly asleep on his legs. But he was _here._

He burst into tears, covering his face. It didn’t matter that he was far too shabby and disreputable-looking now to apply for the valet work he’d planned to do, that he had no money for food or a place to stay. He had worked his way here and could do nearly any type of work now; he would find a place. Even if he never spoke to Lord Sam himself, he would still be in his service, in whatever mean way anyone would let him be. He would scrub pots if he had to. He would shovel horse dung. Anything would feel right and good at Old Winchester. He was home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas was only a servant, one Sam had never met, and Sam could not know or care that he was everything to Cas.

Castiel swallowed his fear, straightened his back, and walked straight toward the open door at the back of the castle. It seemed to lead to kitchens; he had seen a middle-aged woman in work clothes and apron come out to dump potato-peelings and carrot-tops in a neatly dug, walled refuse pit. As he approached the door, she came out again, pausing when she saw him and regarding him with frank curiosity as he walked up to her. 

He had been practicing not thinking about his scraped, dirty, bare feet, his ragged trousers or his threadbare coat. He imagined himself in new, elegantly plain, respectable clothes; he stood straight and spoke clearly, with the good diction he’d learned in the service academy. “Madam, I have come to serve at Old Winchester, if I may. My name is Castiel and I have a letter of reference from King’s Bastion service academy, if it would please you to read it.” He pulled the letter out of his once-black waistcoat, bowed slightly, and gave a small smile he hoped would be charming.

She gave him the expected once-over—kindly, Castiel thought with relief. “Eh, lad,” she said, waving aside the letter. “It would take me too long to sound that out. Come into the kitchen, now, you look worn to a thread. My name’s Ylsa, by the way.”

Castiel flushed. He’d misstepped already, forgetting that most servants could not read. He’d not shown the letter to anyone he worked for on his journey here, but at the back of his mind, he must have decided everyone at Old Winchester would be able to read. He tried to find words to explain that he was after work, not charity, without sounding too blunt and getting dismissed without even the chance he so badly needed. 

She led him through the back door to a rough table in the corner by the largest stove Castiel had ever seen. He thought it a good sign that it was sparkling clean—indeed, everything in the kitchen was, including the cook herself. He felt keenly his shabbiness by comparison. 

Before he could speak, she said, “If you’re lettered, lad, you can read it out to me. I’ll know if you’ve not read it true, mind. Sit here and I’ll bring what there is for tea.”

He sat, awkward with relief. She was willing to listen to his work request, and he was certainly in no position to refuse food. “I… can do whatever work you need to pay for my meal, madam,” he said finally.

She eyed him and set a bowl of stew and a fat, crusty heel of bread in front of him. It was more food than he’d seen all at once in weeks. “I’m sure you can, lad,” she said in a voice so warm and gentle that Cas felt the unexpected prick of tears behind his eyes. Odd that he was weakening _now,_ so near his goal—his determination had seen him through every cruelty and measure of indifference humans had to offer, and it was kindness that finally brought him low.

“It’s a quiet day, so don’t trouble yourself at the moment,” she said, tactfully looking away from his lowered eyes. “You have a bite while I fetch some things from the pantry, then you can read me your letter.”

He doubted she really needed anything from the pantry. She just wanted to give him a chance to eat, and he took it, trying to mind his manners while getting food into his belly as quickly as possible. He didn’t think it was only hunger that made it the best food he’d ever tasted. He paused after a few ravenous bites to hold the savory stew in his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“It’s good to see a lad enjoy his food properly,” Ylsa said wistfully, and Castiel started slightly. She smiled. “I’ve no one your age about the place right now, and Lord Sam was always so particular about his meals.” 

Castiel’s heart contracted at the name. It must mean his lord was often here. He tried to think of how he could casually ask about his whereabouts, but Ylsa went on talking. 

“My own lad’s gone these five years, but he’d always eat as much as I put in front of him—and I don’t know where it all went, just like with you, no doubt,” she said. She had placed a wedge of hard cheese and an apple, wrinkled from winter storage, at his elbow as she moved past. He took a bite of the apple, chewing slowly. He couldn’t remember when he’d last tasted fruit.

Castiel felt strangely tongue-tied—none of his formal, rehearsed speeches of persuasion seemed to fit now, but Ylsa didn’t let any silence last long.

“Well, go on, lad. I’ll hear your letter while I rest my feet a bit; no hurry on starting supper.”

Castiel swallowed and took out the letter. “Thank you very much for the delicious food, lady,” he said shyly.

“Lady! What nonsense. Call me Ylsa. Castiel, is it? I’ll try to remember, because no doubt you think you’re too old to be called a lad.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t mind,” he said. He paused a moment. “Ah… the letter says…” He read it to her, in all its stiff formality that sounded so out-of-place here. He hoped she at least saw the elaborate, official envelope and knew it really was from the academy. 

There was a brief pause, and he hurried to say, “It… took me some months to get here, ma’am, and I’ve learned to do more than the letter says. I’m not afraid of hard work. If… if the lord doesn’t need my services…” The thought choked him, but he shouldn’t stop there, when what he really wanted to say was that he’d gladly do whatever there was to do, in the village if there was no place for him in the castle.

“Our lord has never had a valet, I don’t think,” said Ylsa thoughtfully. “He likes to do for himself. Well, I don’t know that we’ve a use for all your fancy training,” and Castiel’s heart sank, “but I could always use a good lad in the kitchen. I know it’s not what you’re after, and it’s not a lot of coin, but if you don’t think scrubbing pots and peeling potatoes is beneath you, I can give you all the food you can eat and a warm place to sleep.”

The huge wave of relief made Castiel feel weak; he forced himself to answer quickly. “Of course it isn’t beneath me. I would be honored to work with you, Madam—?” 

He waited for her to supply her last name, and she cracked a grin at him. “It’s Carmody, but I told you—call me Ylsa. Now you keep this,” she said, tapping the letter, “somewhere safe. It might do some good someday. I know of a chamber maid who works in the noble’s hall who has a beau, and she’ll surely marry any day now. She might not want to run up and down stairs with tea trays and coppers of water once she’s in the family way… so I know it isn’t being a valet, but maybe that’d suit you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Castiel gratefully.

“Well, it’s hard work in the kitchens, but as you see, I keep things clean, and no offense, lad, but you’re not, at present,” she said, and Castiel flushed. “Let’s get you tidied up and settled in. Come with me. I’ve got some old things of Aury’s about somewhere, and they’ll do until you’ve got a bit of coin to get some clothes for yourself. Five years gone,” she said, and sighed sadly; her bright manner was shadowed for a moment. “And I still haven’t been able to get rid of his things. Silly sentiment, but I guess it turned out to be useful.”

She was leading him down a hall adjacent to the kitchens. She opened a humble wood door tucked under a low arch that Cas had to stoop to get under. “These are my quarters. I moved here after Aury died. Lord Sam brought me to the castle, bless him. Aury was part of his guard in the last action.”

Castiel looked down, swallowing. Everyone in the capitol knew someone who’d died in the Demon Wars. The eldest three of his own brothers had fought in them—Michael had led a village regiment and had been given a medal by the king himself, when Cas was little, before their family had moved into the city. 

The last action had been the darkest time. Since it had happened right on the doorstep of Old Winchester Castle, he expected the grief and loss would be much worse here. “I’m sorry... Ylsa,” he murmured, feeling inadequate. He felt awkward using her name, but wanted to obey her wishes.

She looked up from where she rummaged in a trunk she had pulled from a closet. “Don’t be sorry, lad,” she said briskly. “We made it through, and I lost less than some. And I work for Lord Sam, who’s as good-hearted a noble as ever lived, whatever folk say about him.” She stood up and handed him a pile of clothing. “He’s an odd one, and of course he’s not the same as he was before the war,” she continued, turning back to the trunk to rummage further. “But none of us are, really. Just keep in that in mind if you see him in one of his black moods. He may not be the chattiest or warmest fellow you’ve met, but you need not fear he’ll treat you badly.”

Cas was thrilled at the mention of his lord’s name. Over the ensuing minutes, he tried to sound merely curious about the famous war hero, as a newcomer might be, and over the ensuing days he learned a lot about Lord Sam without ever catching a glimpse of him.

He settled quickly into his routine at Old Winchester. Ylsa generously gave him her son’s old clothes, which were quite serviceable for all weather and fit well enough that he needn’t worry about buying new for a while. She gave him a little cubby off the kitchen for his very own to sleep in; it wasn’t big enough to be called a room, but it had a clean straw palette, a lantern on a hook, and a rail to hang his clothes on. It was private—Cas was not sure most folk even knew it was there—and warm, with Ylsa’s great pot-bellied cook stove just on the other side of the wall.

The work was rough, but mentally undemanding, leaving Cas plenty of time to daydream, and plot ways to catch his lord’s eye. Ylsa was motherly and kind, and though there were a few silent, haunted types still recovering from the war, mostly they seemed like happy, prosperous small-town folk. 

He learned as much of his lord’s habits as he could without seeing him. Ylsa said that Sam and his knights hunted a great deal. “Nothing they can’t handle,” Ylsa soothed, when Cas’s fear showed on his face. “Our lord’s the best hunter in the world, in my opinion. Better than his father and brother, even. With his knights to support him, they’ve driven nearly every evil thing from Winchester county. But ‘nearly’ isn’t good enough for Sam. If there’s rumor of a haunt or a troll or any other dark thing, he’s off as soon as his horse is ready. Doesn’t even wait for the knights most times. They have to follow as they can.”

“And he’s always victorious?” Cas asked as he peeled potatoes.

“Always. He won’t come back until he is. Sometimes we see Lord Dean, even. He sneaks away from the capitol to help his brother, when he can get away with it. Less often, these days. Haven’t seen him this year.”

Cas had been at Old Winchester nearly a month when his lord finally came home. Apparently he had been there once before during Cas’s stay, but had paused only to get supplies and a fresh horse, resting a few hours and leaving again before dawn. The chamber maid reported his bed had been slept in, and a sleepy stable hand had cared for his tired horse and saddled a new one for him.

Cas was walking back from the market with a basket full of produce Ylsa had sent him for when Sam rode back into the village. Cas stopped dead in his tracks. He had pictured this moment over and over on the road here, and in the weeks since, cautioning himself to be calm and not to fawn hopelessly, stutter and reveal his heart too soon, for what would Sam know of him? He was only a servant, and one he had never met, and Sam could not know or care that he was everything to Cas.

These reminders danced through his head as he stared at the figure of Sam, helpless to do anything else. It was the closest he had ever been to him, years after he’d seen him in the crowd at the inauguration, and Cas had not thought it possible, but Sam had grown immeasurably in both beauty and darkness. He looked more like a man now, older than his mere twenty-three years. Lines of old pain and a pallor that contrasted with his dark hair had sharpened him, honed him to a beauty that was almost painful to look upon. Shadows deepened eyes whose color Cas had never been able to determine. Even slumped with weariness on his equally weary horse, he was startlingly tall and looked strong, eminently capable, and terribly far away and sad, as if only a small part of his spirit sat there with him on the horse.

At that moment, the horse stumbled, and Cas noticed with alarm that blood ran down its flank. Sam stopped the horse with a word and a gentle tug on the reins, and it whinnied piteously.

Cas set his basket down and hurried forward; Sam looked up, catching his eye. “Hold her head, would you, lad?” Sam said absently. He barely seemed to hear Cas’s “Yes, lord” as he slowly, wincingly dismounted. 

Cas stroked the mare’s nose and talked gently to her as Sam found his feet. He did not know how to ride, but he liked animals; he had mucked stables and fed and watered horses and cattle on his way to Old Winchester and was now grateful for the experience as the tired, wounded horse lowered her head to nuzzle him.

To Cas’s surprise, Sam smiled, small and pained though it was. “Wouldn’t happen to have some carrots in that basket, would you, lad?” He was standing stiffly, favoring one leg, and nodded to where Cas had abandoned his market purchases.

Cas had forgotten the basket, and he forgot everything else as Sam stepped right up to him, his hand brushing Cas’s arm as he took the reins back from him. “Ye…yes, lord,” he stammered, and thought Sam would soon wonder if he ever said anything else. It did not seem real, after all the years dreaming and pursuing it, that Lord Sam was right there, had even touched him, and he was serving him, even if all he’d done was hold the horse for him a moment…

“She smells them on you, and she deserves one, if any horse ever did,” Sam said, and Cas, catching on finally, quickly retrieved the basket as he continued, “Could you spare one?”

As if the carrots, and the basket, and Cas himself weren’t all his to begin with! “Of course, lord,” Cas managed, recovering. He fished a carrot out of the basket and fed it to the horse, which nuzzled forward eagerly, ate the carrot and tried to reach the others in the basket.

“Careful, lad, or she’ll spoil everything you have,” Sam had started limping forward, leading the horse, and Cas quickly followed, holding the basket out of the horse’s reach and feeding her a second carrot. 

Sam looked at him, seeming to see him for the first time. His gaze lingered long enough to make Cas flush. He was struggling to find words, to properly introduce himself and offer more substantial help to his weary, possibly wounded lord, when Sam said, “I don’t know you, do I?”

“No, lord. I’m sorry. I’m Castiel, new to Old Winchester. Lord—how may I help? You must need—” 

“Ah,” Sam said, gesturing at his disheveled appearance. “you _are_ new here. Nothing to worry about, lad. I’d have you fetch Renard, but he can smell a wounded horse at five miles; he’ll be here any minute.”

He was right; the stable master came hurrying out of the lane that led to the stable yard and immediately swept the mare away from them; Cas was shocked that he almost seemed to _scold_ Lord Sam for allowing her to get wounded, but Sam took it in stride. “Take good care of her, Renard,” he said, patting the mare’s side as Renard led her away. “She took the arrow that was meant for my neck in her flank. I removed it and tended it best I could, but she had to carry me a good fifteen miles home.”

Cas had managed to gather his wits; he picked up the saddle bags Sam had removed when he handed the horse over to Renard, and now he led the way toward the castle. “I’ll have food brought to your chambers immediately, lord,” he said. “And shall I send for a healer?”

Sam was watching him; he glanced at his bags slung over Cas’s shoulder. “No need,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take those now.” He gestured to the bags; Cas handed them over, his desire to serve at odds with his need to obey. “You work with Ylsa? She’ll be wanting her vegetables.” He strode away without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas was beside himself, just knowing that he and Lord Sam slept under the same roof.

Cas was beside himself for the next two days, just knowing that he and Lord Sam slept under the same roof. He would not neglect his work, so it was difficult to catch a glimpse of his lord, who by all reports spent most of his time in his private library where no one else was allowed to set foot. He took meals in his chamber, and Cas tried to find a way to be the one to bring him his food, but to no avail. The servants were well-versed in their lord’s ways, and things were always taken care of before Cas could even offer. If he tried to insist on carrying the tray, it would sound strange, maybe even suspicious. Cas tried to be in the hall that led to the library just after breakfast, and was rewarded by a brief glance of his lord stepping into the library and closing the door behind him.

Finally, as casually as he could, he took a chance on asking Ylsa about it when they were alone, scrubbing up after supper. The chamber maid, Daphne, (who did not, in Cas’s opinion, seem to appreciate the incredible privilege of her position as the person who brought Lord Sam his meals) had just brought the lord’s tray back to the kitchen. Ylsa clucked over how much food remained on it.

“Does the lord never take his meals in his library, since he spends so much time there?” Cas said.

“Oh, no,” said Ylsa. “Surely you’ve heard no one ever passes those doors but our lord. He won’t hear of it.”

“But if no one is ever allowed in, how does it get cleaned?” Cas knew how to strike Ylsa’s tender spot; she was likely to turn into a fount of information if he did it right.

“I’ve lost sleep wondering that,” she said briskly, “and asked my lord the same question, but he only says to leave it alone. Rather sharp about it, he is. No one crosses him on it. I’m sure it’s all over dust in there.”

“How long has it been like that?” Cas asked, very casually, taking the big pot Ylsa had just finished scrubbing and hanging it on its hook. It was very heavy, and though Ylsa could lift it to the hook herself, such small courtesies always put her in an expansive mood.

As expected, she smiled warmly at him, but the smile faded as she answered. “Since he and Lord Dean came back after the war. When he’s at Old Winchester, his brother goes in there as he pleases, of course, but usually just to bring Lord Sam out. Not much for books, is Lord Dean.”

She chatted amiably enough about the differences in character between the brothers, but said very little Cas had not already heard, except one little tidbit. “At least I never worry about sending the maids to Lord Sam’s chambers,” she said. “He’s a gentleman. Not always the most soft-spoken fellow, but I declare, I’m relieved that Daphne is married now; that should help the next time Lord Dean visits.”

Now _that_ was interesting for a couple of reasons. One, Cas rarely spoke to Daphne, so he was glad to learn that she was married—there was the chance Ylsa had mentioned when he arrived, that she might have to leave her position due to pregnancy, and Cas could become the chamber servant. 

Secondly, Sam never got… friendly with the female servants, which increased the chances that the rumors he’d heard about Sam preferring men were true. He’d never heard those rumors at Old Winchester, though. The servants and villagers alike showed an odd sort of devotion to their lord. They gossiped as much as people anywhere did about everything else, but not about their lord. When he was trying to learn more about Lord Sam was the only time Cas ever felt like an outsider here: to a one, the residents closed ranks and said only that Sam was a good master, that he protected them well, and he liked to keep to himself. Only Ylsa ever said more.

Gradually Lord Sam emerged from his library and was seen more often on the castle grounds. Cas was even able to contrive to walk past him sometimes, and say “Good morning, lord.” He bowed when he spoke, until one day Sam told him not to.

Sam paused at the door out into the courtyard, buckling on a sword belt. “Lad—Castiel, is it?”

“Yes, lord,” Cas breathed eagerly.

Sam actually gave a small smile that tugged at Cas’s heart. “We don’t stand on ceremony at Old Winchester, Castiel. You needn’t bow.” He gave his sword belt a finishing tug. “Unless it’s a good stretch. In that case, let me know. All this training is hell on my back.” He then gave Cas a sardonic half-bow and strode out into the morning.

Though he always dismissed the thought immediately, occasionally Castiel wondered if Sam were deliberately trying to make him fall more deeply in love with him. He had not spoken to Cas before, but Cas sometimes thought, when he looked up surreptitiously from his now-forbidden bows, that Sam’s eyes stayed on him a moment longer than necessary, that his lord might even be thinking of speaking before he gave his usual polite nod in passing.

Now he had spoken, and Cas was so overwhelmed he could hardly move. He wondered if he dared go out to watch Lord Sam spar with his knights. He did so whenever he could not bear to stay away. Others were always watching, too, but Cas was afraid that if he came every day and watched the entire practice, like he wanted to, it might raise suspicion about his feelings for his lord. Especially since he did not care for displays of fighting in general, and had never watched the knights train when Lord Sam wasn’t there. He thought it safe, though, because he was not alone in this. Lord Sam had other fans, especially young women, but the women had nothing to fear in showing their affection.

So Cas tried not to watch two days in a row. He had watched yesterday, but the pull was too strong, so he gave in, and crept to the back of the crowd, standing a little apart, hoping he would not be observed.

Sam fighting was beautiful, graceful, and brutal. It was widely reported that he disliked tournament fighting, and that he rarely used a sword when real fighting was necessary. He had other methods, including research and spells, and by all reports he was a tenacious hunter. 

Cas knew that Sam, along with his father and brother, had more magical ability than anyone left in the world, and this had been the Winchesters’ secret weapon against the demons. Rumor had it that Sam’s natural talent even far outstripped the other Winchesters’, and his knowledge certainly did. This, Cas reasoned, was probably the reason Sam would let no one into Old Winchester’s library—it was the biggest repository of magical knowledge in the kingdom, and had been for generations; it was part of Old Winchester’s dark reputation.

Magic, while not strictly outlawed, had been taboo for over two hundred years. The first king of the Henriksen dynasty _had_ outlawed it for a time during his reign. He, and many of the people of Lawrence, had blamed magic, particularly that of powerful witches among peasants, for the last invasion of evil creatures. The vampires were not the powerful threat that demons were, and the war against them had been much less bitter, but nonetheless, they had come through a magical portal, and it was widely thought that manipulating mystical energies made Lawrence vulnerable to such invasion. Victor Henriksen the First had attempted to stamp magic out entirely in the lower classes, where it had always been rarer than in the noble families, and keep what little he allowed under the control of the crown. Many mystical scientists had worked hard to prove, in the years that followed, that using magic did not weaken the kingdom to magical invasion, and that in fact, some magical knowledge and use was necessary to keep at hand in case of another invasion. So later Henriksen monarchs had relaxed the laws. Magic was still practiced in noble families, but it had become… well, _unfashionable._ So when the demons attacked, the very unfashionable family of Old Winchester, who had kept up the practices and gathered the knowledge while the rest of the world had forgotten magic, had been the only bulwark against final, total destruction.

For the demons knew that magic resided in noble blood, and had struck against the noble families first. The Henriksens had fallen quickly, and the families closest to them had followed, until the Winchesters were one of the only noble families left, and they had always been the oldest. So they saved the kingdom, and John Winchester, born an obscure country lord and never part of the elite circles of nobility, had become king.

People still didn’t speak much of magic; the national consciousness seemed wounded relative to it. Magic aside, traditions must be upheld at Old Winchester. It hosted a great tournament every year, and had done so for over two hundred years; Lord Sam was obliged to uphold the tradition, and fight with sword and armor instead of whatever he used to hunt down monsters. Knights traveled hundreds of miles to be at the tournament. The lord of Old Winchester was expected to fight any nobleman who presented himself for combat, and preferably win. The tournament also allowed nobles from smaller, outlying fiefdoms to mix with other nobles and renew their pledges of loyalty to the crown via Lord Sam.

Who, according to Ylsa, hated every minute of it, and stayed in his library as much as possible when he wasn’t in the tourney ring. He might dislike sword-fighting, but he was skilled at it. Sam usually won the tournament, even if he took no pleasure in it. The only time he didn’t compete was in the first tournament after the war, a few months after the last action. Lord Dean had ridden in to represent the Winchesters, and no one saw Sam for the entire three days of the tournament. No one dared question it, either. Lord Dean won the tournament that year.

There was also an archery contest that the villagers never missed; it was the most anticipated event of the season. Every year, the knights arranged more eccentric, and sometimes hilarious, targets, ranging from difficult to seemingly impossible.

With the tournament only three days away, Cas wondered why he never saw Lord Sam practicing archery with the other knights. Renard, the stable master, laughed when Cas mentioned this.

“He doesn’t need to practice, boy,” he said. “No one has ever beaten him at archery. The last time his father or brother could outshoot him, he was ten years old. He’s won every Old Winchester archery contest he shot in.”

Cas could not wait to see it. At least at the tournament, everyone would be watching Lord Sam, so Cas’s desirous gaze could go unnoticed. He knew he should try to curb his feelings, and be content with serving his lord at a distance, but it was impossible. His heart was deaf to any logic or limitation. He told himself over and over again that his lord would never touch him the way he’d imagined for years, that they would never be lovers or even friends, but he was powerless to his love. He had finally accepted that he would pine for Lord Sam for the rest of his life. So he would take what he could get, basking in the sight of him, his presence at Old Winchester, and be content with the privilege of serving him, which was his greatest pride.

The very next morning, the stroke of luck Castiel had been waiting for arrived. Ylsa was frantically busy already, even though Cas had arrived early, knowing she’d need him, with hungry visitors beginning to arrive at the castle.

“Get a tray ready for Lord Sam, would you, Castiel?” she said as she hurried past Cas, who was tying on an apron. “He breakfasts early when he’s training, and Daphne’s sick this morning. If I’m any judge, she’ll be sick a lot of mornings from now on—you might get to take her place sooner than later. I’m glad you know your business and I won’t have to train you to it.”

“I’ll get it ready right now,” Cas said, and his voice trembled a bit with excitement, but Ylsa was too harried to notice.

“There’s a good lad,” she said, hastily cracking eggs into a bowl. “Now, he likes bread better than meat, and fruit better than either. Tea usually, but coffee this early.” She paused to glance at the tray Cas was assembling as she instructed. “Good! You know he likes those berries. That’s enough; I always overload it, you know me, but he won’t eat it all and it irritates him to waste it. Go ahead.” She took his arm and led him to the doors and pushed one open for him. “Back as soon as you can, please.”

Cas hurried to Lord Sam’s chamber. He knew which was his, of course, but he had never seen inside it, and now he hesitated before the door for a moment. He’d never seen anyone employ noble manners at Old Winchester, but he knew no other way, so he fell back on his training, and gave the formal, four-part knock that indicated a wish to enter and serve.

He listened carefully for a call to enter, but instead, after a short pause, the door came abruptly open and Lord Sam stood there, looking grim and discouraging. His look changed to surprise when he saw Cas, though. “Oh. Um, come in, lad,” he said, distracted, and Cas saw him peer past him around the hall as Cas came in with the tray.

“I can return later, lord, if you’re not receiving yet,” Cas said meekly.

“What? Oh… sorry. No, please set up right here.” Sam gestured to a small table littered with books and papers. “I just didn’t recognize the knock, and wondered if someone’s servant had wandered over from the nobles’ suites. I didn’t think any of the big names were here yet.”

“They’re not, sir,” said Cas deferentially. His nerves jangled fiercely, but this was what he’d been trained for. He moved the books and papers aside, stacking them neatly, determined that Sam’s first impression of his service be a positive one. He also hadn’t missed the sarcastic note in Sam’s tone and knew he didn’t want to encounter the “big names”.

“Only a few of the North Winchester viscounts have arrived,” he continued, carefully setting everything in exactly the right spot. He arranged the peach slices to resemble a flower, with a dollop of cream and berries marking its center, but placed a large serving of the berries Sam preferred next to them. He looked up to see Sam regarding him curiously.

“Where’s Daphne?” Sam seemed to choose this question out of a number of them he might like to ask.

“She is unwell, sir. Nothing serious, I understand, but Madam Carmody is not sure when she will return. I hope I may serve in the meantime?” Cas finished arranging the tray and turned to Sam with a short bow, which he hoped would be forgiven in this context where more formality might be expected.

Sam was staring at him now, but he made no comment about the bow. “Um… sure,” he said. His eyes caught on the fruit flower on the (if Cas did say it himself) beautifully arranged tray. He slowly sat down. “Thank you, lad. Um… just… Daphne usually plops it down and says, ‘Better eat it all, or Ylsa will fuss at you,’ and leaves.”

Cas was shocked. He knew Daphne was not a particularly enthusiastic servant, but he didn’t think she had that kind of… courage, or cheek, or lack of respect for their lord’s temper, if not his station.

Sam showed no sign of temper at the moment, though. He picked up a spoon and examined it, as if making sure it was the correct implement for the job. “Castiel, is it?” he continued. “This looks really nice, but… you don’t have to put so much work into it. Just… some of whatever Ylsa’s cooking, and some coffee, are all I need.”

Cas was just then plying the best silver coffee pot he’d grabbed for the occasion. He bowed again, the shortest, briefest bow, and allowed himself a smile, to show he appreciated his lord’s humor. To his surprise, Sam tentatively returned it. “It’s my pleasure, lord. You take it light but not very sweet, is that right?” he asked, as he picked up the cream dish.

“Uh… I usually do that part, but… yes, that’s perfect,” Sam said as Cas finished off his coffee with a bare quarter-teaspoon of sugar, stirred it lightly, and set the cup in a saucer at the exact right spot in his place setting.

“I can wait on you while you eat, lord, if it pleases you.”

Sam regarded him steadily and, Cas thought, a little coolly. He was at once chilled and heated by the way his lord’s eyes remained on him. He met them, and decided that they must be called hazel—they were soft greyish-green this morning, but Cas knew that they looked blue at times, with a gold-brown ring around the pupil. He looked into them longer than was strictly proper before dropping his gaze deferentially.

At last, Sam nodded brusquely and turned his attention to his food. “Saves you another trip up from the kitchens, I suppose,” he said. He frowned at his plate for a moment, speared a peach on his fork and chewed it thoughtfully. “What’s with the… pretty tray?”

Cas couldn’t help it; he smiled at his lord’s plain candor. Sam looked up just then, looked briefly puzzled, then smiled back. 

Cas’s heart contracted painfully and he swallowed. Now was the time to make his play.

“I have skills in this area, lord,” he said. He thought it best to avoid the word “valet,” since Ylsa said the lord had never used one. “If it pleases you, I can serve in further ways. I can keep your clothes clean and mended, your armor clean and polished, and your chambers cleaned and aired. Of course I can prepare food at off hours if you need it as well, or pack it for your hunting trips, and fetch anything you need at any hour. And if you need an errand run to the village or a letter posted, please call upon me at any time.” 

Sam was looking at him again, his expression turned thoughtful. “Thanks,” he said after a moment. “I usually don’t need much but… well, you may have heard that I hate these tournaments.”

“Yes, lord,” Cas said after a moment, when Sam did not continue. 

Sam nodded slowly. “Anything that gets me away from there faster would be most welcome,” he said. “Getting into and out of armor is time-consuming, and sitting around wearing it is worse, so if you can help with that…”

“I can, lord,” Cas said eagerly. “It would be a privilege.”

Sam eyed him, as if Cas’s phrasing gave him pause. “Well then, if we time this right, I can get the schedule from the tourney master, show up ten minutes before my bout, you can get me into my armor and into the ring when it starts. Then if I know you’ll care for it afterwards, that’ll keep Malloy off my back and I can escape more quickly. It’ll have to be done to his satisfaction, mind.”

Cas was familiar with Malloy, the exacting arms master. “I will make sure of it, lord. I will bring the tournament schedule by after you have finished your breakfast.”

“I don’t think Sir Rufus has released it yet.”

“I can get it, my lord.”

Sam looked at him sidelong again. Cas tried not to flush under his gaze; it was discomfiting, to stand so close to the object of his love, the constant presence in his mind now physical and larger than life before him. Sam seemed curious, but did not voice his wondering.

“Very well, we’ll call that a plan,” he said finally. “I’ll thank you if you can take some of the tedium out of this useless exercise.” 

“It’s my pleasure to serve, lord.”

There was a silence. “Perhaps it really is,” Sam said, as if to himself. “Well, lad,” he said, pushing his tray away. “I’m finished here. Leave the coffee.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, Cas felt that he would do _anything_ to touch Sam.

The days leading up to the tourney were the happiest of Cas’s life. He had much more of Sam’s presence than he could ever have hoped. Daphne did not come back, so Cas served in the nobles’ hall now. After he told Ylsa of his conversation with the lord about making the tournament easier for him, she always insisted that Cas do anything the lord would let him do for him before worrying about his kitchen duties. He found ways to ease Sam’s days of training, developing an uncanny knack for showing up just when there was work to be done. Sam was always ready to perform these chores himself, and for a while was surprised when Cas showed up and took over with efficient deference. Soon enough, though, he smiled and handed Cas his equipment to clean and put away, or let Cas lead his horse to the stable and strip her tack. 

They spoke occasionally of the tournament, planning around the schedule Cas had wheedled from Sir Rufus days early. Every time his lord spoke to him, Cas felt a thrill at the trust, the conspiratorial warmth. After some days, he thought Sam’s tone when speaking to him was friendlier than with anyone else, even perhaps his knights. Sam sat companionably with them often enough, as they turned to the talk of fighting men everywhere—their prowess in past tourneys, on hunts, and in the war. Sam did not join in the braggadocio, though he shared recollections of hunts willingly enough. When the knights turned to memories of war, however, soon enough they would eye Sam and fall silent, awkwardly switching to another topic, but Sam sometimes left the room abruptly anyway.

Cas wasn’t sure why his heart ached so much when he witnessed this. He focused all his energy on making things easier and more pleasant for his beloved lord in every way he could conceive.

The day of the tournament arrived. Cas rose before dawn to bring Sam his breakfast, and found his lord in a grim mood. He barely replied to any of Cas’s courtesy, lapsing into total silence as he drank his coffee, while Cas laid out his formal clothing for the tourney. He glanced at it and at Cas finally, and said, “At least it’ll be over soon.”

Cas smiled. He knew Sam wasn’t angry at him, but it was still a relief to hear him speak. “It’s all arranged, lord,” he said, gathering Sam’s discarded breakfast dishes. “All will be prepared when you arrive for your bouts, and taken care of afterward. All you must do—” Cas stopped, fearful that he would sound like he was trying to instruct his superior.

“Is fight,” Sam finished grimly. “As _gently_ as possible. Well. At least I’m good at the first part.” He set his coffee cup down and pushed back from the table. He looked at Cas, and Cas noted a strange, speculative expression there, not for the first time. Sam’s eyes warmed a bit, and Cas hoped he didn’t blush.

“You’d better go, lad,” Sam said, in an oddly soft tone. “I’m sure every minute of your day has a task clamoring for it.”

It did, but none, in Cas’s opinion, more important than attending his lord’s comfort. “Yes, lord,” he said, and left with the tray.

* * *

The day of the tournament flew by. Cas missed half of the things he might have liked to see, but since what he most wanted to see was Sam, he was well-satisfied. He got to be so close to him, even to touch him briefly in helping with his armor… his heart never stopped pounding all day long.

The first event of the day was the only one Sam seemed to enjoy—the archery competition. Everyone was extremely relaxed, for no one had any thought of winning. Not even Lord Sam himself; he didn’t think about the victory that was guaranteed. After second place was decided within ten minutes or so, Sam kept shooting increasingly difficult, then increasingly hilarious targets his knights set up for him, each trying to trump the last. Finally Sam retrieved a woman’s pair of pantaloons from the highest rampart with his arrow, delivered them to the lady with a flourish, bowed over her hand and kissed it. Though the lady was an older matron with several children and everyone was laughing, Cas felt a disturbingly sharp stab of jealousy.

It didn’t take long for Sam’s brief delight to fade. The rest of the day, he was unhappy and preoccupied, but fiercely determined. He arrived in the pavilion minutes before his fights, which were scheduled at intervals to give him rest in between, since he had to fight more than anyone else. His tone with Cas was sharper than usual in his hurry to get armored, but as Cas displayed quick efficiency, Sam said less and less each time, and when Cas buckled his gauntlets for him for the last bout (suppressing a shiver when he brushed the bare skin of Sam’s wrist), he gave Cas a sad, weary smile.

“Last bout, lord,” Cas said cheerfully, trying to lift his lord’s spirits. “May you be victorious as always.” He had won all his bouts so far.

Sam rolled his eyes, but his smile stayed in place. “I don’t know… that fellow’s a brute. Wish Rufus could have put me against him early instead of late.”

“He had to beat all other comers to reach you,” Cas pointed out as he buckled on Sam’s helm. “So he will be weary as well.”

“We can hope. Or not. Whatever,” Sam sighed, and took his sword from Cas. He eyed it with dislike. “Here we go,” he said, and with no warning, strode out of the pavilion. The heralds blew a belated royal introduction as the crowd cheered.

In the end, Sam won the battle, though the bout was long, brutal, and graceless. The foreign knight he faced was a grim mountain of a man—larger even than Sam, which was a rarity—and it seemed he would never give up. But when Sam beat him down a fourth time and knocked his sword out of reach, he finally yielded. Cas breathed a sigh of relief. The crowd had been muttering angrily—it was considered a bit unsportsmanlike to fight the hosting lord so… _seriously,_ as if they were real enemies. At least Sam was able to walk straight and steadily off the field; his opponent staggered and limped.

However, once he was inside the pavilion and no eyes but Cas’s were on him, Sam sagged into the nearest chair and sat breathing heavily while Cas hastily helped him out of his helm and breastplate.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said between breaths. He glanced down at where Cas had set the helm, and kicked it away suddenly; it rolled several feet across the flattened grass inside the pavilion. “I’m not putting this rank pile of scrap metal on again until this time next year, if _ever_ again,” he declared. “I knew that South Campbell earl didn’t like me, but I didn’t know he’d grown so much since he came of age.”

“The crowd did not care for him, lord,” Cas mentioned as he unbuckled Sam’s shin guards.

“Well, they want to see their lord win, I guess. Not that it makes any difference at all. Except in my bruises. Lad… if you can get me back to my chambers without having to talk to anyone, I’ll be in your debt.”

“I am ever in yours, lord. And done. Quickly, now. Everyone’s listening to Sir Rufus; we can slip away.”

Sam got to his feet, and cast a look down at Cas that he couldn’t interpret. Then he smiled, and Cas’s heart fluttered as Sam clasped his shoulder and said, “That’s my boy,” and followed him out of the tent.

Cas carefully scouted their route to Sam’s chambers, and they reached them without incident. He bustled about, gathering sleep clothes, carefully arranging everything for his lord’s comfort. When Cas turned back to him, Sam was undressing. He froze. 

His lord hissed and winced as he took off his shirt, and Castiel could only stare. 

He’d always found his lord beautiful and imagined, many times, what he would look like naked. He’d compared him in his mind to every handsome man he’d ever seen, working shirtless at a forge or wrestling with other lads in his hometown contests, and he’d imagined Lord Sam’s body to be even more impressive than the strongest and comeliest among them.

It was. He was lean, beautifully muscled, smooth and fair, and he moved with a feral grace and hard strength that his genteelly-clothed exterior had concealed. He was all that Castiel had imagined and more. 

What Castiel was unprepared for was the reaction this produced in him. Suddenly, he felt that he would do _anything_ to touch Sam. He would suffer any torment, lose all that he cared for, even his life, if he could only lay his hands on that beautiful flesh, feel that smooth skin slide beneath his fingers, even for a moment. He had to stop himself from reaching for him that very second, and was relieved to be called back to his duty when Sam handed him his shirt.

“Put that in the hamper for me, would you, lad?” Sam said absently, and Cas let out his breath, relieved that Sam hadn’t noticed his reaction.

As he took the shirt, another thrill rushed through him—it held the warmth of Sam’s body, and smelled of him, and Cas clutched it, turning quickly and making sure his tunic covered the bulge in his trousers as he managed a “Yes, lord,” and moved to the closet.

It was torment to have his back to Sam, to hear him grunt and sigh softly as he stretched tired muscles, knowing what these movements must look like and wishing he could drink them all in greedily with his eyes, and his hands. As he put the shirt in the hamper and chose sleeping clothes for his master, assuming that he would be allowed to help now that he was here, he noticed a bottle of massage oil on the shelf.

Surely now was the time if ever there was one. His heart leapt at the idea, and his knees shook, and the thrills that ran through him were equal parts fear and desperate longing. He willed himself to speak before the moment, the opportunity passed, but his voice would not obey. 

He cleared his throat. He must do this right, or the consequences could be dire. “I see that you have a bottle of massage oil here, lord,” he said finally. “I have learned a bit about how to ease sore muscles, if I may serve my lord this way?” He was impressed by his light, yet suitably formal tone: indifferent, deferential, as a good valet should be. Not panting, desperate, and lustful…

A thrill of fear went through him when Sam didn’t answer right away. No. What if he had made a terrible mistake? He tugged nervously at his jerkin—had he given himself away?

But Sam was merely regarding him curiously. “You can read?” he asked, surprised, and Cas realized belatedly that he would not have known what was in the bottle, otherwise. “And where did you learn about massage?”

“In the service academy, lord. It is part of a valet’s training.”

Sam smiled. “Valet, huh? How did you find your way here? I thought the nearest service academy was in Singer Citadel.”

Cas wasn’t sure how to answer, or what to do now that he had his lord’s full attention. He set the clean clothes over a chair, not touching the massage oil since his lord had not asked him to. “I… do not know the academy in Singer Citadel, lord. I attended the one in the capitol.”

“I knew there was something different about your voice! You don’t sound like Winchester County.” Sam was looking steadily at him now, and Cas felt himself flush under his gaze. “You’re a long way from home, lad,” Sam said softly, and the kind sympathy in his voice made Cas flush further. He had to find a way to recover.

“This is my home now, sir,” he said, and managed to sound bright and cheerful. “Or at least I hope I may call it so.” His hopes of giving Sam a massage had mostly died, so after an awkward moment passed, he put on his deferential pose, straight-backed, eyes downcast and hands folded in front of him. “How may I serve my lord now?”

Sam smiled. “You don’t need to be so formal.” Without warning, he unbuttoned his trousers and kicked them off; again, Castiel tried not to stare as he sat down on the bed, clad only in his small undershorts. 

“I wouldn’t say no to that massage,” Sam said. “Maybe with that and a hot bath, I’ll actually be able to move tomorrow.”

Cas’s heart leapt. “Yes, lord,” he said, hopefully not too eagerly, and turned back for the bottle of oil, but Sam said, “Uh, I don’t actually use the oil for that,” he said, and Cas wondered at his secretive smirk. “It would get washed off in my bath anyway. But a rubdown would be great.”

He was going to let Cas touch him. He was stretching out on the bed, facedown. Suddenly Cas didn’t know if he could do it. The desire was still there, but the fear was stronger. His legs trembled as walked slowly to the bed. 

He cracked his knuckles and flexed his hands to buy some time, but he needn’t have worried. So close, the beauty of Sam’s body overwhelmed his fear, and face down, Sam couldn’t see his reactions. Then the scent of Sam’s sweat hit him and his hands were on Sam’s back.

Sam gave a long, languorous sigh and stretched out under Castiel’s hands. Cas carefully held himself upright against the knee-weakening waves of desire that slapped him mercilessly. Pleasure and arousal flowed up his arms from Sam’s flesh, which felt as firm as he had imagined, yet was vulnerable to his touch, and responsive. He saw goosebumps rise on Sam’s arms as Sam sighed again, and this time, the sound was almost a groan.

“I hope it pleases you, lord,” Cas murmured deferentially, carefully keeping his voice steady.

It took Sam a moment to answer. When he did, Cas felt a shuddering thrill run through him at the frankly sensuous sound of his voice.

“It does,” Sam breathed, almost dangerously. “Don’t stop.”

Cas went on with the massage, concentrating on controlling his breath. He pressed firmly so Sam wouldn’t feel the tremble in his hands, and Sam groaned deeply at the increased pressure.

Cas worked higher on his back and caressed his neck, stroking with daring, sensuous affection before he began to rub deeply. He knew Sam felt his intention. The air changed between them. He could hear a catch in Sam’s breathing, just for a moment, then an intense silence.

The moment was now. Sam would either send him away, and avoid him or be cold to him in the future, or… not. 

He did not, and after a moment, Cas only half-suppressed a gasp when Sam’s arm, hanging over the edge of the bed, snaked around his leg, and Sam gripped him, just above the knee.

Cas only stopped rubbing for a bare second as Sam squeezed gently. Then he continued the massage, pretending all was normal, as Sam’s hand moved, caressingly, over his thigh, pausing to squeeze now and again. Slowly, his hand moved up and in.

Cas’s knees were trembling steadily now. He felt as if he couldn’t get enough air, and had to force himself not to gasp for breath, and to continue the massage, though his kneading was repetitive and tremulous now.

As Sam firmly squeezed his ass, Cas allowed himself to believe it was neither accident nor even innocent affection. His lord was _fondling_ him, just as he’d imagined, and longed for desperately, so many times. 

But Sam stopped before long, and Cas felt something change. Sam was silent for a minute or two before he said, “That’ll do, lad.” Cas could tell he had to work to keep his voice steady, but he sounded troubled and didn’t meet Cas’s eye as he sat up.

Trembling, Cas stood with hands clasped and head bowed, hiding his confusion behind his deferential pose. He couldn’t avoid noticing the large bulge in Sam’s shorts, but did not allow himself to look as he awaited further commands.

“I’ll have that bath now, Cas,” Sam finally said, and Cas was crushed to hear that his voice was rather distant.

“I’ll fetch water immediately, lord,” and hurried to do so, both relieved to escape and terribly disappointed.

When he had taken the several trips required to fill the tub in the bathing room with heated water, he returned to the bedchamber with towels and gathered Sam’s sleeping clothes. He could feel his lord looking at him, and took another chance. Some nobles, after all, did use a servant in the bath.

“Your bath is ready, lord,” he said. “May I assist you?”

There was a short silence, and Sam, who had put on a robe, moved close to Cas. He felt him looming above him, remembered touching him, and felt weak as the scent of Sam’s sweat reached him. 

But Sam simply took the pile of clothes and towels from Cas’s arms, and as he did so, clasped Cas’s arm briefly. “No, lad,” he said, with a strange gentleness. “I need nothing more tonight. You should go to your rest.”

Flushing, Cas bowed, and obeyed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas was a perfect servant, anticipating Sam’s every need...

The next day, Cas was determined to behave as if nothing had happened, and, a bit of awkward stiffness aside, Sam fell in line with this. It tore at Cas’s heart, the idea that his lord would never touch him again, but there was something in the way Sam looked at him, the way he acted beneath his lordly guise, that told him he would not suffer such deprivation.

He was a perfect servant, anticipating Sam’s every need, doing things for him that Sam didn’t know he wanted done, but which pleased him nonetheless. Cas was deferential, proper… and in moments when he could feel that _something_ in Sam, the signal he’d been awaiting, he found himself… well, he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Flirting, he guessed. Without words, he let Sam know what he felt. His body and some part of his inner heart knew what to do, even when Cas felt in the dark.

For two or three days, he kept standing a little bit closer to Sam, contriving ways to be in the room alone with him, to be wherever he was. As far as he understood such things, he tried to make himself as appealing as possible, keeping himself scrupulously clean and pleasant-smelling with a bar of scented soap he’d found for a penny at the market. He fussed over his clothes, noticing how they hung on him for the first time, spending more time in front of a mirror than he ever had. If Ylsa’s approval (she called him “such a well-groomed lad,”) and the lingering glances of Sophie, the other kitchen servant, were any indication, he was succeeding.

He offered “service” in as open-ended a way as possible, and though Sam never said an improper word, Cas could feel him weakening. Boldly, he began brushing against his lord whenever possible, lingering nearby instead of apologizing for the “accidental” brushes.

Sam began “accidentally” brushing against Cas in return, then touching him whenever the opportunity arose, and as Cas continued silently flirting and encouraging this, Sam began groping him secretively now and then. Cas trembled with desire when he felt his master’s hand creep up the back of his thigh or slip up the sleeve of his shirt to caress the bare skin of his arm.

He made himself available for fondling whenever possible. Usually Sam kept it brief, perhaps out of fear of discovery, so Cas looked for reasons to be in his chamber at hours when they were likely to be left alone. They never spoke of it; nothing was acknowledged. Sam still seemed uncertain, but found excuses to stand near Cas and squeeze his ass or grope between the backs of his thighs. 

One evening Cas was sorting through Sam’s clothes and setting aside things for mending, standing at the armoire, when Sam came over and, to Cas’s shock, put his arms around him and pressed up against him from behind. Cas felt the swell of Sam’s arousal against his ass, and before he could react, Sam was groping him through the front of his pants, blatantly and expertly tugging him through the fabric.

Cas couldn’t help it; he gasped and dropped the armload of clothes he was holding. Sam laughed softly.

“Are you going to come in your trousers, Cas?” he breathed against his neck. Cas tried to answer, but all that came out was a frantic moan as Sam’s mouth fixed on his neck; the hot wetness shot intense pleasure and desire through him, and for a moment he couldn’t move or speak as Sam sucked gently.

“N-not… if it displeases you, lord,” he panted after a moment, then wondered belatedly, as Sam rubbed against him and groped him urgently, if he could keep that promise.

“Really?” Sam murmured sensuously. He unbuttoned the top button of Cas’s trousers and slipped his hand inside, then laughed when Cas’s knees buckled and he stumbled against him.

Sam held him up when he would’ve collapsed, pressing him against the armoire. “So if I did this, and said it would displease me if you came in your trousers… you wouldn’t?” He was stroking Cas rhythmically now; he closed his hand over his cock inside his thin undershorts and squeezed, tugging. Cas couldn’t hold back a sharp cry, but he bit the inside of his cheek and focused on the pain to keep from coming. 

He couldn’t keep this up for long, he knew. His lord had asked him a question. “I… would always… do my best to obey you, master,” he panted desperately.

“Master! Mmm… I like that,” Sam said. “That would make you my slave, wouldn’t it?” He squeezed Cas’s cock and thrust his own hard against the seat of Cas’s opened trousers, grinding against him.

 _“Yes!”_ Cas cried, so wracked with frenzied pleasure at the words and the touch that he could no longer stand, even in Sam’s iron grasp; he slid to the floor, but Sam came with him, pulling him onto his lap. He pulled Cas’s ass against his own cock straining inside his trousers, his hands clutching the outsides of Cas’s thighs so hard they would leave bruises, and he grinded hard against him, arching up from the floor. One hand released Cas’s thigh and reached inside his trousers again, jerking him off without mercy. Cas came finally, helplessly, throwing his arm over his face to muffle his shout of ecstasy.

Sam cradled him close, turning him in his lap so they faced each other. “Well, you disobeyed,” he said lightly, “or maybe not. Because I’ve decided it doesn’t displease me, at all.”

Cas couldn’t believe it was real; his lord was touching him, not just in passing, and perhaps would even… 

Just then, Sam took Cas’s face in his hands, lifted it to his, and kissed him, with a strange, hesitant sweetness that filled Cas’s heart to bursting. He kissed Sam back eagerly, leaning up to him and locking his arms around his neck. He had been imagining this moment since he was thirteen years old, and it was all he could have wished for and more. 

Sam broke the kiss at length, resting his head on Cas’s, and Cas felt that he was vibrating, breathing fast and unsteadily. “We did this in… kind of a strange order, didn’t we?” Sam said with a soft huff of laughter as he kissed Cas’s neck. His voice was still thick with arousal, but to Cas’s dismay, he sat back and disentangled himself, and his manner became grave.

“My lord may do as he wishes with me—” Cas began, but Sam interrupted him.

“Listen, Cas,” he said seriously, getting to his feet, but Cas, desperate and terrified of what Sam was about to say, suddenly flung his arms around Sam’s legs. Sam froze.

“Please, lord,” Cas whispered, clinging to Sam’s legs as he scrambled to his knees. “Please… I disobeyed you, but I… I would make it up to you.” 

Sam staggered back a step, but Cas crawled with him, until Sam collapsed into the chair next to the armoire. His eyes were wide, his expression frozen as Cas desperately prostrated himself, his face in Sam’s lap as he caressed his thighs and nuzzled toward the bulge in his trousers. Sam’s hands fell to Cas’s head, caught between restraint and a caress, indecisive.

Greatly daring, Cas reached for the button of Sam’s trousers. “Please let me serve you, master,” he whispered as he unfastened them, and Sam’s expression collapsed into raw desire, eyes closing and lips parting, hands caressing Cas’s face and hair tremulously.

Some part of Cas was shocked at his own confidence, at the adroit way he slid Sam’s trousers and shorts down and took out his cock, which was already hard and seemed to reach back for him, eager for his touch. He marveled at its beauty: just like his master, it was large and well-formed. Cas handled it reverently and expertly, as if he’d done this a hundred times before, when in fact he had never touched any cock but his own, and he barely knew of the existence of what he was about to do, only that he had always imagined doing it to Sam.

Sam’s hand fisted in Cas’s hair suddenly. “I shouldn’t… use you this way,” he breathed, tormented.

“But I wish to be used,” Cas whispered. “Please, master…” He nuzzled Sam’s cock with his cheek as he squeezed with his hands; Sam convulsed slowly. “I am yours to command, yours to do with as you will… I ache to serve you…” With the last word, he wrapped his mouth around Sam, taking him in deeply; he felt Sam surrender with a shuddering gasp as he moved his mouth tentatively, circling the head with is tongue. He did what he’d always imagined doing, sucking slowly then deeply, moving his head in a gentle rhythm, fondling Sam’s balls and the base of his shaft with both hands, filling his senses with Sam, his beautiful, beloved master, and the strangled sounds Sam was making were like music to him, his accelerating breath an affirmation of all Cas had ever wanted.

He made it last as long as he could, slowing nearly to a stop at times, then intensifying his efforts, tasting and experimenting, learning his way. At last Sam’s panting became deep, frantic groans, rising in pitch until he spilled into Cas’s mouth; he thrashed wildly, clutching the collar of Cas’s shirt, and Cas swallowed his essence down gladly, moving with Sam’s shuddering rhythm until it ended.

Sam didn’t move; he was draped utterly limp in the chair as his breathing slowly returned to normal. Cas tucked him neatly back into his shorts and trousers, discreetly wiped his own mouth with a handkerchief, and dared a look at his master finally.

Sam’s eyes were closed, face transformed. He looked… light-hearted and soft instead of hard and brooding. Cas knelt, silent and awkward for a moment, before Sam stirred and tousled his hair.

“Come here, Cas,” he said softly, and as Cas uncertainly got to his feet, Sam grinned at him and pulled him into his lap. Cas turned his head to Sam’s, hopeful for a kiss, and he got it; Sam kissed him slowly and deeply, holding him close.

“Well, my lad,” Sam said at length. He was smiling, and his voice was touched with humor. “I certainly very much appreciate your… efforts. I never had a valet before, but if I’d known such services were included, maybe I would’ve.”

Cas flushed slightly. He wasn’t sure why, but shame burned him. Perhaps Sam would let any servant who offered give him pleasure in this way. Maybe it was only Cas’s convenient availability he cared for. That should be enough for the likes of him, he told himself; he was only a bastard peasant, after all, not even merchant class anymore. He had offered his favors to his lord and his lord had accepted them. He should not be so foolish as to wish for more. 

He should be grateful. So he whispered, “Thank you, lord.”

Sam had sobered. He was gazing at Cas curiously and a little sadly. “Cas, what I was about to say when you proffered… service is still true. I just don’t have much to offer you. You must know that no one can ever find out about this.”

“Of course, lord. I promise to be very careful and discreet! And I ask for nothing, I swear. I only wish to serve you.”

Sam looked troubled. “I shouldn’t have begun this,” he said, “but you’re so…” He stopped, gazing at Cas and caressing his face. Cas felt that his heart would explode as he waited breathlessly for Sam to say what he was, but Sam did not finish. Instead he sat forward and stood Cas on his feet, busily straightening his own clothes.

“The thing is, Cas… I’m fighting my father on this, but I may have to marry soon,” he said, getting to his feet. “We Winchesters have to propagate, if the magical line is to remain in the world. If there were any noblewomen of childbearing age with magical talent right now, Father would have me married off already.”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, clearly trying to smooth it, but it looked worse than before, so Cas, struggling with the pain that wrapped itself all around him, said, “Allow me, lord.” He turned to the armoire against which Sam had so recently fondled him and drew a comb from a drawer. He combed and arranged Sam’s hair carefully, unable to keep the tender affection from his touch, but Sam did not seem to mind. He allowed Cas to groom him, watching his face.

“If I marry, I won’t be able to bring you with me,” Sam said gently. “And if the woman comes here to live… well, I would not disrespect her by continuing this, even if I don’t love her.”

“Of course not, lord,” Cas said. Attending his lord’s hair had allowed him to return to his calm, professional demeanor, though he felt like he was breaking apart. “Is there anyone you… favor?” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, but he covered it by clearing his throat as he set aside the comb and reached for a clothes brush. Sam’s clothes did not need brushing, but it gave him an excuse to remain near him, and again, Sam did not object.

“No, I can’t stand any of them,” Sam said bluntly, and Cas couldn’t help smiling. “It seems like the more intolerable a noblewoman is, the better a marriage prospect she is. Father and I have been fighting about it for five years, ever since I was old enough to rule if Father and Dean both died… and that wasn’t so unlikely at the time, but it is now. Which is why I’m trying to convince him I don’t need to marry. Father’s healthy, there’s no more war, and Dean has seeded half the countryside with Winchester bastards, so even if Father can’t get _either_ of us to marry, he’s got his propagation right there. He wants to send the kids here to learn magic when they’re old enough, if they show ability… but the magic is stronger in me than in Dean, so Father hasn’t let up yet.”

Cas flinched at the word “bastards,” but smiled to have some of the rumors of Sam’s older brother confirmed. “So you and your brother are… different in this way,” he said vaguely, hoping to keep Sam talking without asking impertinent questions. But Sam knew exactly what he meant, and chuckled.

“Yes, Dean got all of the lady-lust for both of us, it seems,” he said lightly, and Cas’s heart was unaccountably eased. “I… tried. I would do my duty by my father, and I suppose I _will_ marry eventually. I would like to father children, if not for the same reasons Dean likes to. But I can’t help feeling it’s not fair to the woman. Nobles don’t usually marry for love, of course, but I understand that fondness can grow over time, and a woman can at least reliably expect her husband to desire her.”

“And you… cannot, my lord?” He shouldn’t ask, but he was desperate to know.

“No. There have been a couple… I mean, I _like_ women. I just… can’t feel the way I’m supposed to about having sex with them. It never felt right, or like much at all, really. Not like…” He paused, looking at Cas, who flushed with pleasure.

Sam changed the subject quickly. “What about you and the ladies, Cas?”

Cas shook his head. “I’ve had no occasion to know, lord,” he said tactfully. “But I do not believe I wish to. When I was young, in school, I kissed a lass or two, and my brother Gabriel…” He stopped. He should not reveal so much. 

But Sam looked alarmed. “Your brother Gabriel _what?”_ he asked.

Cas looked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. “Oh… nothing like that, my lord, he… it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” 

Sam was almost stern now, so Cas hastened to obey. “Gabriel knew I was a virgin. He… liked the ladies very well himself, so he insisted that I have an… experience, before I left for Old Winchester. He hired a, well, a woman who…”

“A whore,” Sam finished for him. “Interestingly enough, Dean did the same thing with me. Well? How was it?”

“Nothing happened. I… couldn’t, and I was afraid she would be insulted, but she was actually really kind to me. We conspired to make it sound like we’d had sex and I’d had a grand time. I told her I’d make sure she was paid, and we spent the evening in her room in the brothel. When she had reason to believe people, including maybe Gabriel, could hear, she made all the noises, and… I did too. She told me what to say to Gabriel when he asked about it later. The rest of the time, I helped her with her letters. She was trying to learn to read, to better herself.”

Sam gazed at him as he spoke, and gave a soft huff of laughter. “Only you, Cas. That’s so… sweet. So, no interest in women at all. Did you ever tell anyone, or find a male lover?” 

“No,” Cas whispered, looking down. He knew he should not tell Sam that he was the only one he’d ever wanted.

“I’m your first?” Sam’s expression merged into an odd mixture of… charmed and slightly alarmed.

Cas’s cheeks heated, but not because he was embarrassed of his virginity—it was the implications of Sam’s words. “Am I your lover, lord?” he blurted, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Sam’s odd expression intensified until it was a dark, dangerous glower; Cas forced himself not to cringe before it. There was a long pause. Finally, Sam spoke in a gentle, almost pitying voice that contradicted his thunderous expression.

“No, lad,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t. And… you can’t, either. You are young, intelligent, and handsome, and have your whole life to do with as you please. You might have to be discreet with a different man, but not as dead secretive as you’d have to be with me. You could be accepted with a different lover. And anyway… you should give your heart to someone who can give his in return.”

Cas was crushed, but the blow was softened because he expected it. He knew he could not tell Sam that it was far too late, that he had his heart already. 

“Need it be… our hearts, lord?” His voice was carefully controlled. The idea was so contradictory to what he truly felt that it was hard to speak the words, but his desperation for Sam left him no choice. “I know that many people make… arrangements, of service or friendship or convenience, where there is sex without… expectations of any kind. Many men keep mistresses, and noblewomen have their lovers, too. I know you would never dishonor a woman that way, but… until you are married?” He tried to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Sam had turned away as Cas was speaking; he couldn’t see his expression. He said, “I… just don’t know, Cas. I shouldn’t. I can’t.” He strode out of the room without a backward glance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You like being my slave, don’t you?”

It did not take Sam long to give in. For a full day, he avoided close conversation with Cas, dodged Cas’s attempts to stand close and brush against him, acted cold and distant and oh-so-noble. But Cas saw his hand tremble when he lifted a teacup, and he knew all was not lost.

The next morning, Sam was wild-haired and distracted while Cas served him breakfast. He barely answered any of Cas’s polite queries. Cas cleared the breakfast dishes away, and gathering courage, he stood boldly close—too close for courtesy—and looked directly into his lord’s eyes and said, “How else may I serve you, lord?” He spoke in a low, sensuous murmur, and did not drop his gaze when Sam returned it.

Suddenly Sam stood and seized Cas roughly, yanked him close, and kissed him, hard and deep and so desperately that Cas’s body instantly responded; the rush of lust was like adrenaline. He was hard and shaking and gasping for breath as he kissed Sam back, arching against him as Sam grabbed his ass and grinded his pelvis against his. The shock was so close to orgasm that Cas had to bite it back fiercely and barely contained it, and he cried out helplessly when Sam pushed him down on the couch behind them and came down on top of him, still kissing him frantically, shoving his tongue into Cas’s mouth with an erotic frenzy that dizzied them both.

“You want—to serve me?” Sam gasped between kisses. He was pulling at the fastenings to Cas’s trousers, forcing them open, groping Cas hard and possessively. 

“Yes, oh, yes, lord!”

“You will do what I want, when I want it,” Sam commanded fiercely, now unbuttoning his own trousers. Freeing his cock, he rubbed it against Cas’s. “You’ll obey me.” 

He kissed Cas savagely, biting his lip. Cas was shocked at the ecstasy, the wild desire that accompanied the pain; he was shaken to his core, barely able to shape his animalistic groan into words: “Yes, yes, always!”

“I can have this,” Sam murmured as he rubbed against Cas, and Cas felt he was speaking more to himself than to him. “I can have what I want. Do you know how long it’s been, Cas, since I wanted anything at all?” He was pulling off Cas’s clothes as he spoke, and Cas could not answer.

“I thought I never would again. But I want you, and if I never choose anything else as long as I live, I choose this.” He kissed Cas hard again, but his expression was tormented, and his caresses became gentler abruptly, almost pleading.

“I can, can’t I? Until I have to marry, I can… take what pleasure I can find in this dark, terrible world?” 

Cas, recovering some of his strength, threw his arms around Sam and clutched him tightly.

“Yes, lord. I will always be yours for the taking, and I will ask nothing of you, and I will give you anything I can… I am sorry for the darkness, lord.”

Sam gave Cas a small, pained smile, but it melted into a sweetly sensuous expression, and, Cas dared to believe, a glint of hope in the shadowed hazel eyes.

“You’re my light,” Sam whispered.

* * *

The next morning, Cas stood nervously at the door into the library. He felt as if it had always been forbidden, and like he knew it in his bones, though of course he hadn’t even known the library existed until well after he arrived at Old Winchester.

He couldn’t believe it when Ylsa told him that he was to report to the library as soon as he was finished in the kitchen after breakfast.

“I suppose he’s tired of the dust,” Ylsa said when Cas stared at her, dumfounded by the order. “He says that you, and only you, can come in to clean. He trusts you because you’re a scholar, he says, and lover of books. I expect he’ll ask you to do more than clean, lad, if I know my lord.”

Cas was grateful that she was not looking at him at that moment to see him turn red, then white, as a surge of terror froze him in place. She continued, “Lord Sam always wants to let folks better themselves, and since you’re lettered, and well-lettered from what I hear, he’ll be teaching you to research in no time. Then you can help him and his knights.”

Cas nearly gasped with relief. “Yes, Ylsa…” he managed, gulping in air. “Do you think he’ll… really let me read the books?”

“I don’t think he cares so much about the books as people think, lad,” she answers. “It’s his quiet and privacy he likes, and no doubt that’s why he picked you, since you hardly ever say a word. You take good care of that library, now, lad. It’s important, and if there’s anything you could use all that fancy training on, it’s that.”

“I will,” Cas said resolutely.

* * *

Sam showed Cas the library, and at first Cas thought he really did intend only for Cas to clean there. After he showed Cas around and told him what he most wanted cleaned, Sam sat down at a table with his books. Cas fell to cleaning assiduously, picking up larger books with fragile bindings very carefully and dusting them with patience and a delicate touch. One of these needed repair to its binding. Cas had seen a binding repair kit, needle and thread and glue and reinforcements, so he fetched it and busily set to work repairing the book, as he had done to his own precious, much-battered volumes as a child. As he worked, he felt his lord’s eyes on him. His breath quickened, but he did not look up. He felt heat on his skin where his lord’s eyes touched him, but he focused as well as he could on his task, until his lord spoke.

“Castiel,” Sam said, using Cas’s full name with the tone of command. “Come here.”

Cas obeyed promptly. When he stood before his lord and Sam said nothing more, only gazed at him lustfully, Cas dropped to his knees. Sam gave a deep sigh of satisfaction and stroked Cas’s hair, urging his head closer to his lap, where a growing bulge awaited Cas’s attention. But Cas needed no urging; he eagerly unbuttoned Sam’s trousers and set to pleasuring him immediately. Sam groaned deeply in appreciation, his hand possessive on the back of Cas’s neck.

“That’s my boy,” he murmured, his breath hitching. “That’s my good little slave.”

Thus a pattern emerged in their relationship. Sam seemed to leave most inhibitions behind at the door to the library, and here, he took to the master-slave dynamic he had resisted elsewhere. Whenever Cas answered his summons there, even when he dared to knock at other times, Sam received him eagerly, often simply pushing Cas to his knees immediately. Sometimes he dismissed Cas curtly afterward, but he did not usually neglect Cas’s pleasure, seeming to enjoy watching Cas in ecstasy nearly as much as he liked to receive it. After Cas rose from his knees, Sam would take him in his arms and kiss him heatedly, sometimes for several minutes, before taking Cas to his reading couch, holding him on his lap or standing over him commandingly while he groped and fondled Cas to climax, watching avidly. 

It was during these times that he had started penetrating Cas with his fingers, slicking them with massage oil. Sam laughed at how Cas could not keep still and silent during these sessions. Cas came to desire this pleasure above all others, and Sam seemed to relish giving it to him, penetrating him with one hand while jerking him off with the other, sometimes slowly, other times intensely and roughly, giving Cas harsh commands to prostrate himself further, submit more completely, and always, Cas obeyed.

One day, Cas was cleaning; Sam hadn’t immediately summoned him and had been researching in earnest when Cas came to the library, and of course Cas did not interrupt him. But the scratch of Sam’s pen and the rustling of pages had stopped, and Cas was shivering with anticipation that his lord would soon call him to kneel before him, when Sam said. “Cas. Take off your clothes.”

This was quite unusual. Normally they both stayed mostly clothed. Cas hastened to obey, and Sam watched him avidly. When he was naked, he did not know what to do next, and Sam simply looked at him, his gaze hot and lustful. When Cas began to swell with arousal under that gaze, Sam smiled.

“You like being my slave, don’t you?”

“Yes, lord,” Cas breathed. Fear warred with arousal as Sam stood and circled around him, his graceful movements reminiscent of those he used when he fought—confident and predatory.

“Would you still like it if I hurt you?” Sam asked, his tone light, conversational, circling closer. He was almost touching Cas now, his clothes brushing Cas’s skin.

Cas could not control the reaction of his body. A deep flush showed starkly on his fair skin, a shudder of pure desire shook him, and he became almost painfully hard, just as Sam lowered his eyes to see it. 

Sam smiled, a catlike, almost sleepy grin, and he stepped against Cas, bringing his lips a hair’s breadth from Cas’s. He whispered against them, “I think you would.”

“Yes, lord,” Cas managed at last, tilting his chin up hopefully, and Sam obliged him with a slow, hot kiss, but when Cas tried to embrace him, Sam took hold of his hands and set them back at Cas’s side.

“You may undress me,” Sam said.

Cas reached for Sam’s belt, unbuckling it with tremulous fingers, ready to kneel. Then Sam’s phrasing struck him. “A… all of you, my lord?” Cas whispered, and was unable to keep the eager lust from his voice.

Sam laughed softly. “Yes, lad,” he said, stroking the back of Cas’s neck, “You’re going to take all of me.”

Cas obeyed, his hands shaking so much he could not do it sensuously. He could not keep his admiring gaze from Sam’s form once it was exposed. He had not seen so much of him all at once since he’d given him the massage, and this was the first time he’d seen him entirely naked. He tried to control his harsh breathing as he took off Sam’s undershorts; Sam smiled dangerously as he stepped out of them.

He put his arms around Cas as he straightened, stepped against him, and Cas shivered violently at the intensity of so much of Sam’s skin against his. Sam seemed to feel the same; he clutched Cas and groaned softly, running his hands over his back, arching a little so his erection rubbed Cas’s belly.

“It will hurt the first time,” he murmured into Cas’s hair. He took his arm and led him to the couch; he remained standing and pushed Cas to his knees, facing away from him. “Maybe the first few times. But you’ll take that for me, won’t you?”

“Yes… always, master,” Cas could barely whisper his reply. His heart pounded wildly, and a wild surge of fear mixed with desire made him convulse as Sam applied the massage oil, far more of it than usual, penetrating him with his fingers as he did.

“Good. Because once I start fucking you, I won’t stop,” Sam said. “I will take you every day, maybe more often, for my pleasure, whenever I want it.” He was fondling Cas insistently now, tugging his balls with a hand slick with oil. He pressed up behind Cas, aligning his hips with his. Cas writhed with anticipation.

“Tell me now if you don’t want it,” Sam breathed harshly. “It’s your last chance. You will be my slave, and I will use you hard, for as long as I please.”

“I want you to, lord,” Cas said, and ended on a sharp gasp as Sam thrust into him.

Even with Sam’s earlier penetrative explorations, Cas could never have imagined the sensation of Sam inside him. He could not hold back his panting cries, which seemed to encourage Sam, who was at first gentle and hesitant, despite his rough words. It hurt. It was splendid. Cas was full of fear and ecstasy, and he never wanted it to end.

Sam was panting behind him, grasping Cas’s hips with bruising force, and he leaned over Cas and raked his shoulder with his teeth, but then abruptly became tender, his thrusts stilling. “I don’t want to hurt you, lad,” he said, his voice smothered by barely contained passion.

Cas could not say it didn’t hurt. Instead the truest words spilled from his lips. “Please don’t stop, master… I want it so much…” He cried out when Sam began to move again; beneath the pain, which as it faded sharpened the other sensations, a lightning-bolt of unbearable pleasure, of a kind he’d never felt, struck him when Sam thrust deepest. Sam gave a groan of triumph and found a rhythm, striking to the center of Cas again and again, until at last Cas came so hard he thrashed off of the couch, knocking Sam backward; Sam kept hold of him and pulled them both to the floor, still thrusting. Sam ended up on his back with Cas on top of him, back pressed to Sam’s chest, and Sam’s thrusts lifted them both off the floor, until soon Sam’s panting groans crescendoed to a shout and Cas, shuddering and helpless, felt Sam spill into him, the strange sensation filling him with wild, ravenous love.

Sam held him on the dusty library rug for a few minutes afterward. It was a rare pleasure, just lying still in his lord’s arms, and Cas treasured it. Too often, when the sex was over, Sam left the library or dismissed Cas the moment they were both dressed. Now he turned on his side and curled into Cas, cradling him close. Cas clung to Sam’s body as if it were a cliff edge he was about to drop from.

“Cas,” Sam said, after his breathing had slowed. There was a pause as Cas snuggled closer, because he could and to show he listened. “Are you… glad you came to Old Winchester?”

Cas was surprised. “So very glad, lord. I would not wish to live anywhere else.”

There was a longer silence as, to Cas’s regret, Sam got up and retrieved his clothes. “I hope… you always feel that way,” Sam said, and his voice stabbed Cas’s heart. There was a sadness unlike anything Cas could comprehend, but also a frozen distance, an unbreachable implacability that Sam cast over himself; Cas ached already to have him back in his arms, the breath of pleasure still spilling from him. “I am glad you’re here, but… I hope you never have cause to regret it.”

Cas wanted to answer, but he could not speak around the wall Sam had raised. He meekly took the clothes Sam handed him, and Sam strode out of the library without looking back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get rougher, sadder, and darker in this chapter. Please note the tags and proceed with caution.

In the following days, Sam made good on his promise to take Cas often and make him obey him. His attentions grew increasingly rough; Cas was often bruised by Sam’s fierce grip, his teeth, and even an occasional blow, landed while Sam shoved Cas into the position he wanted him in or when Cas did not prostrate himself quickly enough.

Cas wondered if someone would consider him abused, but the rougher Sam was, the more aroused Cas became, and the pleasure of Sam fucking him hard while or after he hurt him was blindingly intense. He found that he wanted Sam’s harsh, sometimes degrading attention more than he had ever wanted anything. He even pretended to clumsily misinterpret Sam’s instructions at times, provoking Sam to punish him. Sam knew when he was doing it, and he liked it, finding creative ways to make Cas “serve” him humbly enough to please them both.

It was far from every time that it was rough, and Sam never spoke unkindly to Cas outside of these sessions. As he worked in the library, Cas often felt Sam’s eyes on him, and occasionally caught him in a gentle, tender regard. Sometimes, in passing, Sam paused to kiss Cas and nothing more, a gesture Cas thought would be reserved for real lovers. Sam even seemed confused by his own behavior at times; after embracing Cas and kissing him affectionately, once or twice he drew away sharply and abruptly, avoiding Cas’s eye.

Cas knew Sam was conflicted about their relationship. He vacillated from tender to violent, warm and affectionate to cold and rejecting, so often that Cas’s heart could not keep up; he sometimes found himself feeling grateful and fulfilled at a curt dismissal from Sam, or hurt and sorrowful when Sam held him close and let him linger in his arms after taking him. Cas’s reactions and emotions were so tangled inside him that all he knew with any certainty was love.

Sometimes Sam left, abruptly and with no word to anyone, on hunting trips, in the very early morning, before even Cas was awake. No one seemed to know where Sam got his cues that something dark lurked somewhere in the stony hills or cold, black forests of Winchester County or the unclaimed lands beyond. His knights rarely tried to follow him, but Sam always came back silent, often bloodstained, sometimes wounded, with the untold tale of his hunt behind haunted eyes.

Cas was filled with pitiful gratitude that Sam was not often gone as long as five days, because he became anxious and sleepless when he had been gone for two, and he could not eat after four. He counted the hours, then the minutes, as he feverishly imagined ways to make Sam touch him when he returned, how to prostrate himself enough to please his master.

He rarely had to try very hard. He was summoned to the library or Sam’s chambers promptly upon Sam’s returns, and at these times Sam was in violent haste to take Cas instantly, roughly, and repeatedly.

One day, Sam rode home after six days. He was bloody, disheveled, and silent. His hand on Cas’s arm was hard and trembling, fingers digging in. He led him to the library and was on him the moment the door closed. He threw Cas down and fucked him like a ravening beast, biting and clawing him like one, bruising, even drawing blood. For the first time, Cas was truly frightened. He thought of pleading for mercy, but he could not speak, and ecstasy stalked and pounced him, spiked to unbearable intensity by pain and fear. He saw white as he rocketed toward climax, and for a moment he believed this orgasm would kill him, and he was glad. He heard his own screams of pleasure at a distance, mixed with Sam’s wordless animal cries. Sam did not stop after he came; he fondled and savaged and penetrated Cas with his fingers, then yanked Cas’s head back by the hair and shoved his cock in Cas’s mouth. Then he fucked him again, and again, in every position and some they’d never tried, and Cas lost track of orgasms and bruises and himself, but of Sam he was aware of every pore, every hair, every breath.

Cas did not know how long he lay on the library floor, but when he was able to find his way shakily to himself, to his knees, then to his feet, Sam was long gone. He did not return to Old Winchester that day.

* * *

When Cas was summoned to the lord’s chambers upon Sam’s return late the next afternoon, he was almost too afraid to open the door. He did not know who he would see when he entered, but it was not the same Sam he had last seen. The genteel lord, clean, neatly dressed and strangest of all, smiling, greeted him warmly when he came in.

“Come here, lad,” he said with deliberate gentleness, as if he’d expected Cas’s fear. He stood up as Cas obeyed, and to Cas’s surprise, immediately took him in his arms and kissed him deeply. For a moment, Cas expected he would shove him roughly to his knees next, but instead, Sam kissed him sweetly at length, holding him close and caressing him with such tenderness that Cas’s heart swelled uncontrollably; he had to fight tears as he kissed him back.

“Such a good lad,” Sam said softly.

“Thank you, lord,” Cas stammered in surprise, and Sam gave him a sad smile.

“It’s I who should thank you,” Sam answered, stroking Cas’s face. Cas’s heart beat faster when he saw that Sam was leading him to his bed. “You serve me so well.” His tone was tinged with regret. He lay down next to Cas on the rich, canopied bed. “I've told Ylsa you're helping me with a special project, and that no one is to disturb me today.” He paused and looked into Cas's eyes.

Cas returned his gaze, helpless to those clouded hazel eyes. He was so aroused by Sam’s slow-moving tenderness that he couldn’t speak as Sam kissed him gently, running his hands over him with none of the usual greedy heat. Instead, Sam was uncharacteristically hesitant, and as Cas watched him, his expression grew tormented. “I… didn’t hurt you, really… last time. Did I?” Sam asked finally.

Cas’s eyes went wide. Emotion flooded him, love and desire and guilt, fear and confusion. “No, lord,” he finally stammered. It was a lie, but the pleasure had far outweighed the pain.

Sam kissed him with greater urgency now, and his breathing quickened; he moved closer and Cas felt his erection against his side. “I did,” Sam breathed, and his tone was a strange mixture of regret and arousal. “You’re such a good, sweet lad—” and here he paused to kiss Cass deeply, sliding his hands so, so gently under Cas’s clothes. “And I hurt you and degraded this beautiful body for my own selfish pleasure…” He was breathing hard now, gently undressing Cas as he spoke.

Cas struggled desperately for breath to reply. Sam’s violence had brought him the most intense ecstasy he had ever known, but his slow tenderness now threaded ecstasy through his entire being, far beyond his body. Finally he gasped, “I… liked it so much, lord.”

“Because you’re such a good lad,” Sam repeated, removing Cas’s trousers and short pants. “So good to your master, even when he’s cruel.”

“You are never cruel, master.”

“I’m never kind, either.”

“Not… not true,” Cas managed. “My lord, I am grateful to you… for your every touch, every word…” Cas’s desperate desire to speak his heart was only held back by his lack of breath and the intense distraction of Sam’s unwontedly tender ministrations.

He felt feverish, delirious from Sam’s touch and his words, both so different from ever before. Cas was thrown back to his fantasies from years ago, before he had ever met Sam, secret moments when he was alone in his bed, touching himself and imagining that he could earn the love of the lord he idolized. It was like that. It was like Sam had found the heartbroken, lonely lad and taken him in his arms, healing his heart, hearing his fantasies.

“So beautiful,” Sam whispered, caressing him slowly. “Such a beautiful boy, my Cas.”

He kissed Cas over and over, and instead of growing rougher or more urgent, he slowed to a heated, desperately erotic tenderness that burned Cas deeply, in a part of him Sam’s touch had never before reached.

Sam’s tongue languorously explored Cas’s mouth, teasing Cas into deeper response, and it felt like it would go on forever. Cas shivered beneath Sam’s weight, body arching helplessly, and he whimpered when Sam paused for breath.

Sam laughed softly, leaning back. “You really like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Cas panted. “Lord, may I… will you… more?”

Sam laughed again and kissed him deeply, pressing against him. He stroked Cas’s face and gazed down at him, absorbing Cas’s arousal, his responsiveness. “I… never had a lover who liked to kiss as much as I do,” he said.

He paused as if to test his theory, leaning in to kiss Cas again, and when Cas sighed happily, Sam smiled wistfully and continued. “My… last real lover. Told me kissing is for women. He…” Sam’s expression became pained for a moment. “He didn’t want to believe he could care for a man, not truly. He said it was just for sex. Just convenient until he could find the right woman. And I believed I was the same, until you.”

Cas threw his arms around Sam, recklessly pulling him close and kissing him, instead of waiting for Sam to do it. Sam gave a pleased, throaty chuckle, but then gently pinned Cas’s arms, positioning him beneath him and lowering his weight onto him.

“And you like this, too?” he asked, rubbing himself softly against Cas’s thighs, parting them caressingly.

“So much… oh, lord… I like everything you do…”

It had never been like this. Sam had never taken Cas to his bed, never _explored_ him, or sought much beyond taking Cas for his own needs. He liked to make Cas come, too, but he had never delayed his own pleasure like this, and Cas would have worried that he should be doing something to serve his lord, but Sam’s touch made it impossible to worry about anything at all. Sam stroked Cas’s belly and between his thighs, teasing feather-soft with his fingertips here, gently fondling there. He kissed Cas’s face and neck slowly, paused to lick his collarbone, closing his mouth over it and gently sucking. His teeth grazed Cas’s flesh, nipping softly as he tongued the flesh between them, and Cas gasped, writhing.

“Tell me what you like, how it feels,” Sam whispered, his tongue flicking over Cas’s nipple.

“So good… oh, master… I like when you squeeze me so hard it hurts. I love your mouth… on me, on mine… when your hair tickles my neck… I like… I _love_ … oh, lord, I l—”

“Don’t,” Sam whispered, panting hoarsely. He was undressing himself now, and to Cas’s surprise, his hands were trembling. “Don’t say it, my beautiful, clever, perfect lad.”

He kissed Cas’s open mouth with such heat that pleasure and arousal nearly smothered Cas; he clutched Sam hard as he struggled to obey, making Sam’s breath puff out of him as he lay their naked bodies together.

He could not stay silent, try as he would. “I… I want to,” he said.

“I know,” Sam murmured against his lips, stroking his hair. “And I want to let you. But I mustn’t. You mustn’t. So I order you to never…” he kissed him, “ever…” he kissed him again, “say it,” he finished, gently biting Cas’s lip.

Cas groaned helplessly. Sam crouched over him and pushed his knees back, positioning Cas beneath him; Cas arched to receive him, and as Sam thrust into him, he panted, “Do you understand?”

“Ah… yes… yes, lord,” Cas huffed.

But he did not understand. Not at all.

When they parted that night, it was nearly unbearable. Cas went to his bed and clutched his pillow hard against his chest, imagining himself still with Sam. “I love you,” he whispered, over and over again in the dark. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”


	8. Chapter 8

Cas was deliriously happy much of the time after that. He was careful to obey Sam’s injunction about declaring his love, but Sam became lighter-hearted, freer with his attentions, and though he never spoke words of love either, he treated Cas like his lover. He kissed him often, held him longer and more frequently after sex, talked to him of many things. Cas did all he could to make Sam happy, and believed he was succeeding. Sam still returned haunted from his hunting forays, still fell into black moods at times, but Cas had to hide his flush of pride when Ylsa declared to Cas that she had never seen their lord smile so much.

Sam was pleased to learn of Cas’s knowledge, that he had been to school as a merchant’s son and had a curious mind and a love for books. He encouraged Cas to read in the library, spoke to him about the books he choose, even asked his opinion on matters of research sometimes. Cas eagerly helped him all he could, and slowly, the dusty library began to gleam under his attentions. One morning, when Sam arrived there after Cas, he declared the library had never looked so good.

“I didn’t realize I was neglecting it so much,” he said, stepping close to Cas and bending to kiss him in greeting. “Cas… I must thank you for all you’ve done here, and for me. If there is ever any reward you desire…”

“My reward is to serve you, lord,” Cas said instantly.

Sam grimaced. “Some reward,” he muttered. “But this library is an important place, Cas. The world has largely forgotten it, but I found answers here when I most needed them, and have found… refuge here since. So your care of it means much. Thank you.”

Cas blushed. “You are most welcome, lord,” he murmured.

“I would show you, then, its last secret,” Sam said, and Cas looked up at him curiously. Emotions flowed over Sam’s face, and Cas could not discern them all. There was fondness, and as always great sadness, but also pain, and a shadow of fear, distant now, but never gone.

Sam led Cas to a corner of the library he’d not yet had a chance to attend. There were tables for writing, long neglected, their inkwells lidded with cobwebs. He made a mental note to come back here and clean. Sam had a table for writing nearer the front, where he was usually seated when Cas came in, with a settee nearby that he frequently utilized with Cas.

This back corner seemed to be an accident of construction. There was a little hallway, too narrow for full-sized bookshelves, that wasn’t visible until they reached the entrance to it. Sam had to turn his broad shoulders sideways to walk through. At the end of the hallway, a small, battered bookshelf had been abandoned, barely jammed into the space.

Cas paused behind Sam, confused. The hallway led nowhere. Then Sam moved the bookshelf, angling it outward like a door, and revealed a half-height opening.

Sam smiled over his shoulder at Cas’s surprise. “This place is a great secret,” he said. “We can have complete privacy here. Come in.” He knelt then, and disappeared through the opening.

Cas followed, and to his surprise, a little, oblong, irregularly shaped room met his eyes. The ceiling was high enough for Sam to stand upright directly in the middle of the room, sloping down at the sides to shoulder-height. There was a mattress on the floor, a child’s kneeling desk with an oil-lamp in it, and several cushions. One wall was made of the green stone of the exterior of the castle, the other side blending into plaster where a newer, interior wall had been built.

Sam sat down on the mattress and beckoned Cas to join him. Cas eagerly crawled in beside him. His heart beat faster when Sam took him in his arms, but Sam did not kiss him, instead settling Cas comfortably against him and resting in silence for a moment.

"When I came back... after the last action." Sam broke the silence, speaking softly.

Cas held his breath. He did not know whether he'd hoped his master would speak of that time, of which so few knew anything at all, but he had thought of it often, and wondered, and knew Sam was tormented by the memories. He longed to ease this pain, and did not know if he ever could.

“I slept here for months,” Sam continued finally. “I could not sleep in my chambers. I remember very little, but it was… some weeks that I could barely sleep, or eat, and when I closed my eyes…” He paused, and cleared his throat. Cautiously, Cas leaned into his arms, holding him tighter. Sam cradled him absently.

“Again, I remember nothing. But Dean… was frightened by the strength of my nightmares. And my brother does not scare easily.” He smiled fondly, and it was one of the softest expressions Cas had ever seen on his face. “He never left me alone, you see. This alcove… when I was little, no one but Dean and I knew about it. There’s another one, behind the kitchen, but our arms master found that one, so it wasn’t safe anymore.”

Cas smiled. He did not want to interrupt Sam to tell him that the kitchen alcove was now his room, but it thrilled him, to know he slept in his master’s childhood refuge.

“But they never found this one,” Sam said, stroking Cas’s hair. “Dean and I hid here whenever we wanted to get out of something, or when one of us was in trouble.”

He sat quietly, lost in thought, for several moments. Cas was desperate to hear more, but knew that he must let his master’s thoughts unspool as they would. Very slowly, he stroked Sam’s back, and felt him lean into the touch.

Cas’s heart was full, his mind bewildered. He couldn’t understand why Sam broke his sacred law for him alone. He feared the overwhelming joy he felt at the trust his master had shown no one but his beloved brother, now bestowed upon him, a humble servant lad the lord could never love. He could not trust it. All of this was temporary, an illusion of the love Cas craved, but one so beautiful that Cas would give anything to believe in it.

The illusion grew sharper and clearer as Sam turned Cas in his arms and kissed him softly, sliding gentle hands under his clothes. “I want you here with me, Cas,” he said. “You’re my secret now. My light. My hope. Only you. Only here.”

“I will always be yours,” Cas whispered. “Here, and anywhere, and anything you want of me, and everything I have, forever.”

Sam made a sound that was more pain than pleasure, a deep, softly exhaled groan, and Cas tried to hold him tighter, but Sam flipped him onto his belly suddenly, pulling his trousers off in one quick motion.

"You'll kill me, Cas,” he groaned. “As hard as the evil of this world has tried, for all I have sacrificed, I have never felt as close to death as I do when I take you."

Cas presented himself obediently as Sam hastily applied the massage oil, but he was distressed and frightened by the words. “Lord, no… I wish only to serve and please you…” He broke off with a gasp when Sam thrust hard into him.

“Yes,” growled Sam. “You will serve me, and let me be destroyed if I ask it, and I do ask it, Cas. I command it!” he shouted suddenly, and fucked Cas hard and fast. He bent over Cas, raked his shoulder with his teeth, and locked his arms around his chest, painfully tight.

Cas was throttled by the wild ecstasy Sam’s roughness always brought him, intensified when he could not breathe, and the little breath he could snatch was stolen by his helpless cries as Sam shifted his hands to his neck, gripping it and holding Cas down.

“Don’t fight me!” Sam shouted, though Cas was all limp, sensuous submission. “You will do as I command! I will destroy myself… in this…” He was nearing climax, and hard, growling moans stole some of his words. “I… you… mine! Mine, let it kill me… ah! Let me… let me go!” He gave a sharp, wailing gasp, squeezed Cas’s neck, and Cas writhed and bucked in silent orgasm beneath him, all breath for cries crushed out by Sam’s hands. Sam released his neck and held him down hard with arms and body and pumped wildly into him, words slipping into cries and back into words again; Cas made out, “mine!” and “kill me!” and once, he thought, his name.

Sam came hard at last; Cas felt him spurting into him for an impossibly long time. He shivered with pleasure at receiving his master’s essence; he was filled with it, every sense plunged into possession as Sam rode him gradually into stillness and collapsed on top of him, his rough, panting breath whining into silence at last.

Instinctively, Cas turned over, squirming under Sam’s weight, and embraced his master tightly. Sam moved slowly to put his arms around Cas, then was still, except that he shivered slightly. Cas dared to caress him, and Sam received it passively, until Cas hesitantly spoke.

“My lord,” he said softly, kissing Sam’s shoulder where his face was pressed to it. His heart was so full of so many conflicting things that he could not keep silent, but nor could he find words, except those that were always screaming loudest inside him—those forbidden to him. He craned his neck to kiss Sam’s hot, damp cheek, still stroking his back. “I… know that I may not speak of…”

“Don’t,” Sam croaked, and Cas was startled to see that he wept, his voice hoarse as if ravaged by smoke. “Please don’t.”

Cas froze for a moment. Sam never said the word “please,” not like this, and nor should he ever, not to Cas. Cas ached for him so much it was like the skin of his whole soul was deeply bruised. He moved so that he could cradle Sam’s head in his arms, sure that he would not allow it for long, but Sam was as docile as a lamb, and lay his head on Cas’s chest and allowed him to rock him gently and stroke his hair. Cas had longed to hold him like this for so long, imagined it so often, that he was sure he would never get his fill of it; it was love and pleasure and a deep, aching pain that was threaded all through Sam and bled into him until he, too, wept. He tried to speak several times, but only love would come to his lips, and he fought every moment to obey his lord’s command against the stronger, fiercer command of his heart.

After a while, Sam broke the silence with a muffled, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, lord,” Cas murmured, kissing his hair. “You mustn’t be, please. I…” he struggled around the injunction for a moment, then said carefully, “I… admire you so much, and am so greatly in your debt. Everyone is, but no one more than I, for you have… have given me such a precious gift, lord, in your words and your touch, and in bringing me here, and I wish only that I had anything, anything at all to give you that could ever—”

“No,” Sam interrupted, anguished. “No, you… I meant to give you something, but I took from you instead. I… Cas, lad, I should not use you so hard. I never meant to use you at all, but you… you’re just so comely and graceful and… and I want you so much, and you make me feel like it could all end, in you. The darkness. And… I tell you you’re my light, but all I bring to you is—”

“So much pleasure, lord! So much happiness! I… lord, I have come to know you, and I know you feel fear about… things like you did tonight. You have never… choked me before, but you did not hurt me, and I liked it so much, master! Please…”

“No,” Sam interrupted again, sharply. “No, don’t call me that, Cas, you’re not my… you’re not what I treat you as, you’re more than that… but you can’t be more to me, don’t you see? You’re more, and I’m _less._ You give me your confidence, and you keep my secrets, and you give me your body, and I use it all like… like a creature of evil, like the monsters I hunt!” Abruptly he tore himself from Cas’s arms and sat back against the alcove wall, his head in his hands.

The silence stretched. Cas could feel Sam forbidding him to speak, though his lord said no word, and he felt also a terrible struggle inside Sam, and he watched, his heart in his throat, until Sam sat up abruptly and groped for his discarded clothes, trying to dress himself with shaking hands. Cas scooted close and tried to help him, but Sam said, “No!” and flung his hands away, fumbling with the laces of his shirt.

“Lord, please,” Cas managed, tremulously. “You are not… you are nothing like anything evil—”

“You don’t know,” Sam interrupted coldly. His voice was hard. “You don’t know what’s inside me, what I’ve done. You would never let me touch you if you did.”

The shaking had stopped, and Sam finished fastening his trousers. He looked down at Cas, and the stony glower he sometimes had returned, as he looked far into a distance Cas could not see. He looked down at Cas, who tried not to cringe beneath the look, and his expression softened very slightly. When he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“You can come here without fear, Cas. To the library. Read whatever you like. I… I will never hurt you again. I’m sorry.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sam kept his word about not hurting Cas, and went further than that. He stopped all intimacy, nearly stopped touching him altogether. Cas had grown bolder about seeking his master’s affection, and he sometimes reached for Sam, offering himself for an embrace or kiss, and Sam did kiss him. He held him tightly, and sometimes kissed him again, but then, just as Cas was leaning into the growing, sensuous warmth, Sam stopped, and put Cas back from him.

“I need nothing more for now, lad. You may go,” became words Cas loathed and feared.

His need for Sam’s touch became almost unbearable. He began fumbling in his work, doing things he had always done perfectly just slightly wrong, hoping to earn Sam’s criticism, which might lead to punishment. Sam made no comment on his inferior service. He was polite, more distant all the time, and then he began to strongly discourage Cas from seeking a kiss or any other touch. When he sensed it coming, he rose from his chair in the library to pace away from Cas, or dismissed Cas from his chambers abruptly. He accepted Cas’s service, but never requested it anymore; he wasn’t summoned to the library, or to Sam’s chambers. Ylsa sent him with Sam’s meals, and that was all.

Cas was frantic. He tried everything. Having tried to earn Sam’s punishment, he tried harder than ever now to earn his praise. He cleaned Sam’s chambers until they sparkled, took trips to the farther village to find the berries Sam liked when the near market did not have them, made sure Sam’s favorite clothes were always clean. He could not be sure Sam noticed, though he politely thanked Cas for all that he did. Sometimes he thought Sam watched him clean with a slightly pained expression, and he redoubled his efforts.

He worked hardest in the library, dusting and cleaning and changing out the mattress in the secret alcove. He did this very discreetly, taking the old straw tick out in pieces, bringing the new feather one in the same way, and Sam looked increasingly troubled as he watched him do it. Cas knew Sam did not sleep there anymore, and did not go there much, if ever. Perhaps if Cas could make it pleasant enough, his lord would take him there again.

Sam made no sign that he would ever do so, and Cas grew desperate. He thought he must have become unappealing to his master, somehow, and tried desperately to make himself attractive again. Since he had come to Old Winchester, he seemed to be leaving his adolescent gawkiness behind, and hard work had won him a man’s body, with a good deal of strength in it. He recalled Sam running his hands over him, seeming to enjoy the play of muscle. So now he worked harder, spending his off hours imitating the exercises he saw the knights do in their training. He groomed himself meticulously, and, though he had never seen Sam notice clothing, he even saved coin from his wages and bought a new outfit he thought he might look handsome in. Most of his clothes were drab gray or brown, but the trousers and waistcoat he bought were black, the shirt a dull blue he thought might make his eyes brighter. Sam had complimented the rich color of his eyes a time or two. He had to buy the clothes secondhand, but they seemed barely worn, and he had enough skill with a needle to tailor them to fit him well. 

He decided to change into them after he’d done all his morning work in the kitchens, and Ylsa had sent him on his way until she needed help to prepare supper. He’d already brought Sam breakfast, but Sam had barely glanced at him, and had dismissed him as soon as he’d set the tray down, so Cas was determined that today, dressed in his best, he would go to the library and make his play. He would beg if he had to. He hoped he wouldn’t—if he had ever appealed to Sam, and he knew he had, he surely must now. Looking in the bit of cracked mirror glass he’d salvaged to keep in his alcove, he thought that he looked as well as was possible. 

Ylsa caught him on his way out of the alcove. “My, lad,” she said. She stopped him and held him at arm’s length, looking him over. “Are you courting a lass, then?” He flushed and demurred, but he wondered if he should deny it—because if not a lass, then what would Ylsa think? He hadn’t planned for her wondering why he was taking pains with his appearance.

She grinned at his embarrassment and said, “It’s all right lad, you needn’t tell me. I don’t know who’s caught your eye, but I expect there isn’t a female in this whole county who wouldn’t count herself lucky to get a call from you. But she’ll have to wait a bit. I’m sorry to delay you, but our lord has sent for you in the library. I’m sure he’ll release you quickly if you tell him a lady’s waiting on you.”

Cas focused intently on hiding the wave of emotion that crashed over him. His lord had summoned him, finally! He couldn’t have timed his new attire and careful grooming better. His heart soared as he tried to keep the wild hope from his voice and face as he said, trying to sound neutrally disappointed, “I’ll attend him directly—thank you, Ylsa.”

Sam was at his writing table when Cas came into the library. A bottle of ink stood at his elbow, and a letter was spread on the table before him. For some reason, Cas felt a stirring of suspicion. Sam wrote often, but usually he was surrounded by piles of notes and books as part of his research. The table was empty but for the letter and ink bottle. Sam had never asked Cas to mail a letter for him, so he assumed Sam did not write letters often.

“There you are, Cas,” said Sam, in a chipper tone that sounded false and strange on him. He did not look at Cas, instead blowing on the ink to dry it and setting down his pen. “Come here.”

He did look up then, as he gestured Cas to stand before him, and blinked, perhaps at Cas’s appearance. Cas held his eye and moved as slowly as he dared, projecting desire and availability with all his might and trying to make his movements graceful and sensual. It seemed to work. Sam looked surprised, and his eyes followed Cas slowly, and narrowed slightly when Cas murmured, with a bow and a hint of suggestiveness in his tone, and more than a hint of it in his eyes, “How may I serve, lord?”

There was a bare second more of silence than was warranted before Sam cleared his throat and said briskly, “That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about, Castiel.” Cas felt a sinking feeling in his belly at the use of his real name, and Sam’s tone was aggressively bright; he did not sound like himself at all. “I’ve drafted a letter, here, to Sir Robert—Bobby, you’ve most often heard him called—at Singer Citadel.”

He paused then, and Cas glanced at the letter uncertainly. “Yes, lord? You need it delivered?” Could this really be only about Cas taking a letter to the village to post?

“In a manner of speaking. You… the letter is about you, Cas.”

Cas felt dread coiling in his belly as Sam continued. “It’s a recommendation—the highest one. You’ve done well here, Cas, but Old Winchester is too far from the rest of the world. You can’t make much more headway here. At Singer Citadel, there are four times as many people, and many more opportunities. It’s a much more forgiving climate, as well—you haven’t been through a winter here yet; I can’t imagine you’ll care for it. You needn’t serve so humbly there; I’ve asked Bobby to take you on as a scholar and research assistant. I’ll give you a horse and some coin and—Cas!”

Sam stopped speaking and stood abruptly. He hurried to Cas’s side and caught him as Cas’s knees gave out. Cas had turned dead white, eyes glazed, and was nearly unresponsive as Sam dragged him to the nearest chair and set him in it. “Lad! What’s wrong? There now, head between your knees… deep breaths. Are you ill? You should have spoken—”

“Please,” Cas croaked. “Please, lord, don’t… don’t, I beg you!”  
“Don’t… what? You don’t want to…” Sam glanced at the letter on the table, and Cas moaned and slumped forward again; Sam caught him and kept him from sliding to the floor.

“Cas! All right, Cas, it’s all right…” Sam spoke frantically, pushing Cas upright. He lightly patted Cas’s cheeks to rouse him. “You don’t want to go to the Citadel, you needn’t… it was just an idea, lad! Breathe…”

Instead of breathing, Cas made a desperate grab for what he needed more than air. Sam’s face was near his for the first time in many days, and he seized his lord around the neck and kissed him desperately. Sam started back at first, but Cas’s death grip around his neck prevented his escape; Cas felt the turmoil inside him before he gave in. Resistance turned to blistering passion as Sam returned the kiss and pulled Cas out of the chair, bringing both of them to the floor. He broke for breath and kissed Cas again, deeply and frantically, building off Cas’s frenzied response as he crushed him in his arms.

“Damn it, Cas! Stop, stop,” Sam gasped. He pushed Cas off him and rolled to his feet. “I can’t! I told you… I tried to warn you—”

“You are not wed yet, are you, lord?” Cas said. He had gotten to his feet, the fainting terror of being sent away dissolved by thwarted passion, and now shot through with surprising, strengthening anger. “I told you I would ask for nothing! I wish only to serve you, and… and I have, as well as I could, and now you want to send me away—” His voice broke, and all the pain of his self-doubt, his desperate attempts to make himself acceptable to Sam, came brimming forth. Angrily he tried to choke back sobs, but he couldn’t speak, and Sam’s face softened, creased with pain. 

He took Cas’s arm and led him to the settee, sitting down beside him. He put a tentative arm around him. “Only for your own sake, Cas,” he said gently, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped Cas’s tears and continued. “If you wish to stay at Old Winchester, you may do so…. but I’m weak, Cas. I will use you again, and hurt you—”

“I _want_ you to!” Cas shouted. “I like what you do, everything, and I tried to… to make you look at me again, and I don’t know what I did wrong, why you don’t want me—”

“I want you!” Sam shouted. “I want you all the time, Cas—more every day, and it will do worse than hurt you—I could destroy you, ruin your beautiful young life, if I haven’t already! I…. I was trying to stop it, to help you— ”

“Stop it, lord!” Cas couldn’t believe he could speak the reckless words, but nor could he stop them. He so rarely felt anger that it had its way with him now and he turned to face Sam furiously. “I am a man grown, and I can make my own decisions. Why must it all be you? If I beg you to take me, you blame yourself for using me. You are kind to me, and give me all I need, yet call yourself cruel. You keep yourself from me when I _know_ you want me. Why? Why can’t you just love me?”

Sam flinched. His face seemed caught between anguish and fury. “I told you—I _commanded_ you, not to love me!”

“No.” Cas was surprised by the hardness, the strength of his voice. “You told me not to _say_ it, and I obeyed. I would never have accepted a command I knew I could not obey—could never have obeyed, before I even met you—”

Sam actually turned pale. His eyes were wide as he stared at Cas, who tried, but could not take back the words. Sam took one stride to close the distance between them and seized Cas’s face in his hands, staring hard into his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Sam whispered, and Cas felt his anger return like a sudden whip crack, and he tore himself free.

“It’s my heart. I am its keeper. Only I may say where it goes, and I will give it… I will give it where I see fit.” He turned and fled the room.

It was the only time he ever failed to answer when Sam called for him.

* * *

He worked hard and long in the kitchens that evening, trying to push aside the wild emotions that warred in him. Despite his long day, he could not rest that night. He was terrified of what he’d done. He vowed to go to Sam’s chambers with breakfast as soon as his lord might be waking, and he would abjectly apologize. He would claim… a temporary madness, and promise always to obey, and be grateful for anything his lord gave him, as he was. He was a fool to ask for more, yet when he remembered saying the words, a flush of pride and excitement filled him, and he fantasized about Sam heeding them, telling him he was right, and declaring his love.

He bounced between these two extremes all night, barely sleeping, and rose at first light. He hurried to the kitchen and feverishly started cooking. He did not neglect the large group meal, starting potatoes and porridge for Ylsa to use, but he made a special meal for Sam, all his favorites elaborately prepared. He was just carefully arranging the tray when Ylsa came into the kitchen, yawning, a bit later than usual.

“Ah, bless you. You started the porridge. I thought I might as well catch a few extra winks, since—oh.” She was looking at him arranging the tray. “You didn’t hear, lad? I’m sorry you wasted your time. Our lord is gone.”

“What?” Cas dropped the lid of the tray with a clang, and Ylsa tsked, patting him.

“Yes, he took off in a great hurry sometime after midnight last night. The stable boy—Bren, I think it was—was woken by a messenger from the capitol. He went to fetch our lord, but you know Sam, he was already to the door of the stables before Bren found his shirt. They left in a terrible hurry. Lord knows what it is—I hope nothing awful.”

Cas’s heart froze and cracked inside him. He exerted all his will to act normally as Ylsa, fortunately not looking at him, tasted the porridge and added honey to it. He managed, “Ah, so he’s… off to King’s Bastion, then?”

“I expect so. Which means it’ll be weeks before he comes back, if not months.” She sighed. “King John would have him there always, if he could, but Sam won’t have it. He’s always said this is his home, so he’ll be back before _too_ long.”

Cas tried to believe her. He prayed she was right, but his heart knew differently. Despair had its way with him, pinned him down and ravaged him with the certainty that, whether he returned soon or ever, Cas had lost Lord Sam forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Every day that Lord Sam was gone was torment for Cas. He had not known it was possible to miss someone so much. His sleep was broken by dreams, both erotic and distressing, often at the same time. He had to be near Sam. Sam was so far away, and Cas was sure he would not be feeling their separation at all the same way. There were surely plenty of comely lads at the capitol, in the palace, ready to serve a kind, handsome master in any way he might wish…

He'd been rejected. He should accept the truth of that, he knew. He should have a life outside of his love of and service to Lord Sam. Was this pining all he was? He'd had other ideas, once. A wish to learn and do... but do what? He wanted to serve Lord Sam partly because he was the worthiest person Cas knew of, the one who had sacrificed most and continued to do the most, arguably, for the kingdom. He could not serve the king or Lord Dean even if he wished to; Michael had made that clear. Maybe he should have taken the letter to Sir Bobby. The thought filled him with unspeakable pain. Even if Sam would not have him, even as a servant, he did not wish to leave. Ylsa was kind to him, motherly in a way his own mother had not been since he was tiny, and he had come to be respected at Old Winchester. He would suffer terribly for the want of Sam's attentions, but at least he could lay eyes on his beloved master every now and then.

If he returned. And if he did not return with a bride, and if he did not send Cas away out of respect for that bride...

He forced his thoughts away from that tortuous path. If Sam was happy with his bride, perhaps Cas could serve them both, and give her no reason to suspect or reject him. It might hurt him, but would it hurt him less than leaving his lord forever?

Weeks went by, and the passage of time did nothing to ease his need for Sam. He should grow used to Sam’s absence, come to accept it as the way of things, so his return would simply be a pleasant surprise. He could not. It was like waiting for a pot to boil without ever taking his eyes off it, without _blinking._ The absence stung him and pursued him and invaded him, until he forgot himself, forgot what else he loved and did and was… there was nothing but Sam, but there was no Sam. It was a dull, ever-present ache—except when it was a sharp, alarming agony.

“Eh, lad, what ails you?” asked Ylsa for the third time that day. She reached past him, nudging him gently out of the way, and grabbed the pan he stood over, as the smell of burnt potatoes belatedly filled his nostrils.

“Well, I can’t serve these,” she said mildly. He heard the barest hint of reprimand in her gentle voice—the closest to stern Cas had ever heard her, and it stirred him, sluggishly, from his daze. He peered at the smoking, singed mass in the pan as she set it aside.

“Oh… sorry. I’m so sorry, Ylsa. I’ll peel more,” he said mechanically, moving toward the vegetable bins in the corner. He ran into the retractable cutting board—when had Ylsa pulled that out?—with his hip, bruisingly hard. And he was on his knees suddenly. Had he fallen? How stupid. What was wrong with him? His lord would be so disappointed. He wouldn’t want such a miserable oaf in his service, or in his bed. Wouldn’t want him. Never wanted him, because he was stupid, stupid, not like Sam. Sam…

“Castiel!” There was alarm in Ylsa’s voice. She grabbed his shoulder.

He tried to give her a wry grin, squirming his way to his feet and patting her hand. “Sorry, Ylsa. Potatoes. I’ve got it…”

But he didn’t have it; he wasn’t walking confidently to the potato bin like he’d thought… Ylsa’s arm was around him, and she led him to a chair in the corner, and before he could decide anything he was slumped in it, and pain was pulsing through his hip, and his face was wet… when had he started crying? He couldn’t cry, not here…

“Well, here’s where you are, love, so not much choice, is there?” said Ylsa, and it seemed a non-sequitur until Cas realized he’d spoken his last thought aloud. She was tsking as she settled him in the chair. “Ach, you’re skin and bones, lad! When did that happen?”

“I didn’t mean to,” was all Cas could think to say, and then sobs broke him open, and all the strength left him. Only Ylsa’s embrace kept him upright as he wept against her breast.

Ylsa held him, and rocked him, and murmured, “Poor lamb,” and this made Cas weep harder. It seemed he had never had enough of this, if he had ever had it at all, and he didn’t know he needed it until now. He realized he wanted Sam to hold him this way, but with different intention, not with pity…. The thought cut like razors and he flinched away from it, sitting back from Ylsa.

Cas frantically wiped his face. “I—I’m fine. I’m sorry. I can work. I can still work. You must be so sorry you let me in that day…” God, what was _wrong_ with him? He kept speaking his thoughts aloud by mistake. He kept trying to get to his feet, but the weight of Ylsa’s kindly, plump hand on his shoulder was too much to stand under.

“Stop it, lad! I won’t hear of it! What am I, a slave-driver? And what call have you to say I shouldn’t have you in my kitchen? I won’t hear it,” she repeated, and though her voice had been sharp, it softened then, and to Cas’s shock, she too dashed tears from her eyes.

“You sit right there,” she ordered, turning away and bustling about the kitchen, “until I’m satisfied you’ve eaten a good dinner. Then you’ve the day off. Go for a walk in the woods, get some fresh air, or just go to sleep if you’ve a mind. Make sure you come back and get supper. I won’t have you cleaning in that library today, either,” she said, plopping down a loaf of bread and half a roasted chicken on the sideboard next to him, then moving back to the stove.

“You work too hard, and no one can do that all the time. You need a proper rest. And if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, well, I think I can guess. If not who, then what, at least. And there’s no cure for it, lad. None I ever found except time.” She returned with a dish of vegetables, including some of the potatoes Cas _hadn’t_ burned. “So you’ll have that, and more than just today, if you need it. Turned you away! The very idea. I never had such a good worker.” She paused in her constant movements to tousle Cas’s hair tenderly; tears welled in his eyes again, just as he’d been getting himself under control. She hugged him then, briefly, but warmly and tightly.

“You remind me more of Aury all the time. He was a sensitive lad, even got too thin when something was bothering him, just like you. Only way he was really different from you is that I never could get a lick of work out of him. Worried about his future, I did—lad couldn’t settle to anything. Though I must say, he worked hard enough for Lord Sam. I guess fighting was the work he was called to do.”

Cas was flooded with so many emotions that he had to look down and squeeze his eyes shut, praying that Ylsa couldn’t see _everything_ right there on his face. Confusion, love, need, grief, sorrow, and desperate longing were unleashed at the mere sound of Sam’s name. He was also ragingly jealous at the idea of anyone else working for Sam, though of course Ylsa herself did, as did everyone at Old Winchester, technically. He felt possessive of every moment of Sam’s time back to when he was born, every word he’d ever spoken to another human being. Every moment he wasn’t with Cas was a needle in his heart, and he realized that these might be all the moments of the rest of his life.

As he fought to control the surge of feeling, he opened his eyes to see Ylsa, not talking for once, looking at him with an odd, speculative expression—almost suspicious. But then she just smiled kindly and went back to work.

The day seemed empty without work, filled only with thoughts of Sam. He wanted to go to the library, but besides obeying Ylsa’s command, he could feel that it would torment him, had been tormenting him every day to be there. He took a short walk to the village to watch the road for a bit for signs of his lord’s party, and allowed himself to ask at the guard post if word of his return had come yet. He had made these inquiries rarely, and asked different people, so as not to arouse suspicion with his eagerness.

After learning that no one knew yet when Lord Sam would return, he went back to his bed alcove behind the kitchen. It was strange to be there during the day. He hadn’t realized how much light came in from that accident of construction, the high ceiling above with the window in it that was meant to light the walkway between the servant’s quarters and the nobles’ hall. It was warm and quiet, the thick walls muffling the sounds from the kitchen, and Cas lay down on his mattress to rest a little, but pain and tears had taxed him more than he'd realized, and he fell instantly, deeply asleep.

When he woke it was dark. He panicked a little, thinking it was early morning and unable to remember supper or going to bed the night before. He struggled out of his blankets and went out to the kitchen, which was dimly lit by the embers glowing through the stove’s belly, and gradually the time of night settled on him—hours before dawn, a time when he and all in the castle usually slept.

The silence was deep, but, Cas thought, not empty… he could hear nothing, but thought perhaps he could feel something. With the lord far away at King’s Bastion, was Old Winchester safe from dark things? Cas wondered what he could do if it were not. He could awaken the knights, he supposed.

Somehow, though he should be afraid, he could not find his fear. A strange fluttering, coupled with edged anticipation, filled fear’s space in his belly as he lit a lamp and paced silently up to the floor above, where wide windows looked out on the grounds.

There was a light in the stable, shadows moving inside. Cas’s heart stopped. He knew. Sam was home.

* * *

He did not know how he got down to the stables. It seemed that he flew. His feet found the way through blank darkness; he navigated effortlessly around a dozen obstacles he could not see that should have tripped him up, until he reached the door of the stables.

His lord was there. He was really there, wearily stripping a strange horse's tack, and the sight of him as he looked up at the sound of Cas's entrance cracked open Cas's heart that he thought could crack no further, and drank its contents all in an instant, the instant of recognition before Cas was in his arms.

“SAM!” His lord had asked him many times to call him by his name when they were alone, had said Old Winchester wasn’t formal, but he had never been able to bring himself to do it. Now the beloved name was past his lips before he could stop it, and Cas flew through the stable in an instant, crashing into Sam so hard that Sam staggered back a few steps as Cas flung his arms around him recklessly, and before Cas even knew if Sam was embracing him back or shoving him away, he was speaking, begging, the desperate flood pouring out of him beyond his control.

“Oh, lord, lord, I’m sorry, please forgive me, please, I know I’m worthless, I’m nothing, but _please_ let me serve you! Master… I’ll do anything… I missed you so much, and I know I don’t have a right, and I know I deserved it, but I’ll never, ever displease you again… If you want to punish me, you can, I’ll be bad so you can, or if not, I’ll be good, I’ll do everything you like, you’ll have everything just as you like! I’ll be so, so good, I promise. You can do anything you want to me, always… I want you to, I want you to punish me, only don’t, _please_ don’t leave me again! Please don’t send me away, please just let me be near you, I won’t trouble you, you needn't ever touch me or speak to me, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, and I swear I’ll be a good slave, forever—”

“Stop.” Sam’s voice was harsh with emotion. He’d stood frozen, astonished, for most of this diatribe, but now he took Cas by the shoulders and shook him once, gently, stopping his words. “Oh, Cas. Stop. You’re… you…” He stopped speaking and abruptly pulled Cas close and kissed him deeply.

Cas moaned aloud against Sam’s lips, clutching him frantically. The relief was painful. He’d feared Sam would never kiss him again. He felt he’d forgotten how to kiss; his response was awkward and frenzied, but Sam didn’t seem to mind.

“My Castiel,” Sam said hoarsely against his lips. “Oh, lad, no. Don’t weep. Not over me…” Sam tenderly wiped Cas’s tears as Cas realized he was indeed weeping, and he could not stop despite his lord’s command. Sam watched, distressed, for a moment, whispered reassurances Cas could not hear over his own sobs, then finally crushed him close, holding him tight and rocking him in silence.

“I love you,” Cas suddenly blurted, and he felt Sam stiffen. “Oh, so much, lord. I love you, and I cannot hold the words back anymore, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I disobeyed you, saying it—you can punish me, but—”

“Hush, lad,” Sam murmured against his hair. “You can say it. Punish you? God, Cas. You’re killing me.” He squeezed Cas tightly and kissed the top of his head, rubbing his back soothingly. “Anyway,” he continued, trying for a lighter tone, “I should think loving me would be punishment enough.”

Cas tried to protest, but it came out as a pained moan, and Sam’s face creased in concern, which made Cas weep again, and it took several moments of Sam holding him tight, kissing his face, before Sam ventured to speak.

“I’m sorry, lad. I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen, any of it. And when I left... I wished, as we rode away, that there had been a moment to speak to you, but I realized I didn't know where you slept, and the messenger was in terrible haste. I didn’t mean to make you think I’d... left you. I… I did hope—well, feared—that when I got back you would have… moved on, found something or someone better, though the thought made me...” He winced from finishing the sentence, and instead said, “But I cannot bear what my love will do to you, Cas.”

At that coveted, forbidden word, Cas looked up, wild with hope, and Sam smiled sadly, caressing his face. “You must know that I love you too. I… I tried not to, and not to let you love me, but it was no use.”

“Why? Why do you not wish to? Because I am just a—”

“Shh. No. Oh, Cas.”

“I… d-don’t… understand…” Cas gasped around his sobs. “I said I did, when you ordered me never to say it, but I don’t, and I love you, and I knew there was no reason why you’d ever love me back, but I _felt_ it in you, and… I don’t know why we would be made to love each other this way if we’re not… allowed. If it isn’t to be. Because I never… I never expected to love like this, or to be loved at all. I was born of no love, into no love, I lived and expected to die that way. But now that I have felt it, I cannot live without it, and… and so be it. I do not wish to live without you.”

“Cas,” Sam said, anguished. “Don’t say that. Please. The… your first heartbreak, it feels like that, but—”

“So you are to break my heart then, lord?” Cas could not believe his own audacity, but he felt he would not take back the words, or their harsh tone, for anything.

Sam stared at him, shock sliding into terrible, heavy sadness, and pity and fear of that expression tore at Cas’s heart. The silence stretched.

“Yes,” he said finally, softly. “I am afraid I must. I don’t want to. That’s why I tried not to let you love me. And I won’t let you go, or leave you. It is you who will leave me.”


	11. Chapter 11

Cas did not know how to reply, and the agonized relief of being with Sam, coupled with the fear of parting, was too much. He fought his tears long enough to say, “I would... never, ever leave you, lord. I... I...” He tried to find his professional, deferential manner. “Have you found... are you wed, lord? Because I will—I can still serve. I know how to serve a lady, too. If... just don’t make me go...” But his facade crumpled into anguish and he wept bitterly.

“No,” Sam said quickly, and pulled Cas close, holding him tight. “I’m not married, Cas, and hope I won’t have to be anytime soon. That’s one thing neither of us need be tormented with for now.”

Cas clung to Sam, finding no words, only wanting to stay in his lord’s embrace as long as he was allowed. Sam’s closeness was intoxicating. Desire crept into Cas; he thought he felt it rising in Sam as well. He pressed himself closer and Sam held him tighter in response, then shifted so he could kiss him, and there was heat in it this time. The fire that rushed through Cas in response made his breath quicken to gasps. He opened his mouth to Sam’s tongue, ran his hands over every part of him that he could reach and felt Sam’s breath and heart quicken. Sam kissed him harder and at length, but just as Cas was sure he would move to take him soon, he broke off with a grunt, setting Cas back, and Cas could not bear it.

He clutched Sam hard, thrusting his body against his. He pulled Sam’s head back down to his, and Sam did not resist, pulling Cas close and kissing him with blistering passion. He broke after a moment and said, “Cas, I… must make sure we are alone… there are no stable lads sleeping near?” He pulled free off Cas’s embrace and looked all around the stable quickly.

“They have not since the weather got cold,” closing the distance as Sam turned back to him. “There is no one near enough to hear, and hours yet before there will be…” Sam kissed him again, and he clutched at him hard. Sam’s renewed touch woke a wild desperation in him. He kissed him back frantically, even daring to pull at his clothes. There were things he had felt and never said, leaving desire for Sam to speak, but now…

“You wouldn’t touch me.” Cas could not stop the flow of words. He seized Sam’s hands and pulled them to him, shoving them under his shirt. “You didn’t touch me for so long, and I… I needed it so much… I didn’t understand why you stopped… all I could think about was how to make you touch me again, to punish me or praise me or hurt me or love me, anything…”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam ran his hands over Cas’s skin where Cas had placed them, unlacing his shirt hastily. “And I wanted so much to touch you, more than anything, every time you were near—”

“Do it now!” Cas cried. “Give them all to me, all the touches and kisses... I need them all, please!”

Sam pulled Cas against him and kissed him hard, shoving his half-unfastened trousers down.

“Please!” Cas gasped against his mouth. “Oh, lord, please, please, I’ll do anything, please take me… please! I… I want you so much… so much it feels like I’ll die, and it hurts, it hurts, you say you don’t want to hurt me—it hurts when you’re not kissing me… it hurts so much that you’re not inside me…”

Sam fumbled frantically with their clothes, caressing him, whispering over his pleas. “Cas,” he growled. “Oh, Cas, I want you so much too, wanted you every moment I was gone… I have burned for you every day, every hour since I met you…” 

“Sam,” Cas whimpered against his lips, and Sam moaned, clutching him hard as he backed him against a hay bale.

“Yes,” Sam growled. “Call me by my name, Cas! Say my name while I take you!” He turned Cas in his arms and pushed him onto his knees on the hay bale, leaning over him.

“Sam!” Cas cried, and sobbed the name again as Sam thrust into him. Sam locked his arms around him, his body curved over Cas’s, face pressed into his neck. He held him so tightly Cas could barely breathe, and Cas desperately pushed back against him and clung to his arms, trying to weld their bodies together.

“Sam, oh, Sam, please… don’t let me go, please don’t, I love you, don’t leave me! Don’t send me away! Don’t leave me!” The words burst out of him, dammed for so long they broke him open, and he sobbed and begged helplessly.

“Never, never… oh, my Cas, I’ll never let you go, my love, my beautiful boy…”

Cas came suddenly, bucking beneath Sam. It was more relief than pleasure, and as Sam kept riding him, he wept, clinging weakly to his arm, and whispered, “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” over and over, and Sam caressed him and breathlessly stuttered reassurance and finally spilled into him with a hoarse shout. His knees buckled and he fell forward onto Cas’s back, rolled him over immediately on the hay bale, and kissed him passionately for minutes upon minutes while Cas wept, and begged, and tried to remember how to kiss back.

“It’s all right, lad. I won’t leave you. It’s all right. I’m sorry. Don’t weep anymore. I love you. I’ll take care of you. I always… wanted to take care of you…”

Cas clung to him weakly. He tried, but could not stop his tears. Sam kissed his face and neck over and over, finally just cradling and rocking him. “Shhh. Shh, lad, you’ll make yourself sick. It’s all right now.”

Cas’s tears were finally running out, the terrible, constricting pain in his chest easing. He lifted his head from Sam’s neck, and started a little. Sam’s horse was looking over the stall door directly at Cas, and it snorted when Cas met its eyes.

Sam glanced up where Cas was looking and smiled as Cas said, “I’m sorry. Your horse …”

“It’s all right,” Sam said. “I rubbed him down and blanketed him before you came in, and he’s got water. He’s been rattling the grain bucket for the last ten minutes, though.” He laughed as there was a loud clank, followed by an equine huff, right on cue. “He waited until we finished; that was polite of him. Now he’s saying, ‘All right, you’ve had your fun, now feed me.’”

Cas managed a watery smile. “I will attend him, lord.” He carefully edged himself off the hay bale and onto his feet, groping for his trousers.

“Are we back to ‘lord’ already?” Sam’s tone was light, but there was a hint of sadness in that familiar half-smile. He, too, stood, and fastened his own trousers haphazardly. “You needn’t, Cas. I’ve got him.”

“Lord, you must be weary, and hungry—”

“And I stink, don’t forget that,” Sam said, grabbing a pitchfork and using it to fill the horse’s manger. He glanced over his shoulder at Cas. “If you feel… all right now,” he said hesitantly, “we’ll do it together.”

“I’m well, lord.” Cas buttoned his trousers and went to fill the grain bucket. “This is not an Old Winchester horse, is it, lord?” The gelding nudged Cas’s elbow demandingly as he hung the filled bucket under his nose. He was leggy and a healthy enough creature, but not up to Renard’s fussy standards of breeding.

“No. My own Upstart is a few waystations back on the road. I’ll send for her, or perhaps ride this fellow back to get her, sometime when I am not in such haste.” Sam had finished filling the manger and began rubbing the gelding down.

Upstart was the mare Sam had ridden back to Old Winchester the day he and Cas met, and Cas knew she was Sam’s favorite horse. He could not imagine why Sam would leave her behind. He took a curry brush and worked on the other side of the unremarkable gelding.

“Did Upstart founder, lord?”

“No. She simply needed rest, and I could not wait. This is the third horse I’ve ridden since then. Lordship does have a few privileges,” he said ruefully. “I used the courier stations to change horses so I could make the ride in... what has it been? Only eighteen days? Dean will not believe me; I broke his record.”

Cas was worried—to ride from King’s Bastion in less than twenty days seemed hardly possible; Sam must barely have slept at all. Anxiously, he asked, “Has something happened to give you such haste, lord?”

Sam walked around the horse to Cas, and gently took the curry brush from Cas’s hand, laying it aside. “I wished to return to you,” he said.

Cas put his arms around Sam’s neck as Sam kissed him, pulling him close. The tenderness cracked Cas’s heart again; would it never stop cracking? Several slow, deep kisses later, Cas managed to ask, tearfully humble, “You... you returned for me, lord?”

“Yes,” Sam said, stroking his face. “When there is time I will tell you why I was called to King’s Bastion, but while I was there... seeing Dean get what he wants made me think, perhaps, I could as well—and you’ve no idea, Cas, what a foolish and dangerous thought that is for me. For you, as well, which you will soon understand. But... I realized that much of what you said to me before I left is true, Cas. You are a man, and you must make your own decisions, and to do that, you must know the truth. No one else can ever know all of it, but... Cas, I do love you, and I would give you that, even if it ends us. It is all I can give.”

“I would like to know it, lord.”

“No... I fear you will not like it at all, but I will honor your wish to be treated as a man. But not tonight.” He swayed on his feet a little. “I know I took you from your bed, and I am weary as well. Tomorrow.”

* * *

Cas brought clean clothes to the bathing room, but Sam would not let him make the many trips to bring heated water. Cas winced as Sam, having stripped rapidly, splashed himself with cold water and roughly plied soap. “I’ll just scrape off the worst layer so I don’t soil the sheets, or repel you with my stink,” he joked. “A real bath can wait.”

Cas fetched food while Sam washed, his heart sinking. His lord seemed eager to take care of his needs minimally, so he must be wishing for his bed, which meant they would part soon.

“Ah, thank you, Cas,” Sam said, sitting down in his sleep clothes to the tray Cas brought. “Sit with me. Are you hungry? There’s enough for two.”

Cas had missed supper, and though he was overwhelmed by the privilege of eating with his lord, at Sam’s urging he did eat a bit, and found that he felt steadier. Indeed, as he looked back over the past weeks, he thought that forgetting to eat was some of what made him so unstable, but sometimes when he sat down to food, he could not accept it into himself. Watching Sam wolf down his food helped; he had never seen his lord so hungry.

“I didn’t want to stop to eat, so close to home,” Sam explained. He and Cas finished their plates at the same time. “Leave it,” Sam said as Cas started to clean up. “Come here.”

Cas obeyed, and was overjoyed when Sam kissed him again, deeply and at length. “I want you with me,” Cas,” he murmured, leading Cas to his bed.

Cas felt tears spring to his eyes again. “I wish always to be with you, lord.” 

Sam smiled as he ushered Cas into bed and crawled in beside him, a sad, pained smile. “I wish… it could be so forever,” he said, and there was such pain in his voice that Cas clutched hard at him and he sighed, leaning into the embrace. “But… you are here now, and I am very glad of it.”

Cas thought Sam meant to take him again, but Sam merely held him close and was still, his face pressed to the top of Cas’s head. After some moments he began to stroke him gently and slowly. He untucked Cas’s shirt and ran his hands under it.

“So thin,” Sam murmured after a moment, and his tender concern was an exquisite pain that shuddered in Cas’s flesh, spiraling out from Sam’s hands as they stroked his exposed rib bones. “Have you been ill? I know a good herbalist. I can have her fetched right away, at first light. She knows what she’s doing, not like most of them—” He stopped, distressed, when Cas groaned aloud at his touch.

Perhaps it sounded too much like pain. Well, it _was_ pain.

“I don’t need medicine, lord.” Cas managed to pull in enough breath to speak. “I’m well. I just needed…”

“What?”

Cas looked down, flushing. “You,” he murmured.

Sam did not speak for a moment. He tucked Cas closer and pressed his lips to the top of his head. “I needed you, too,” he said at length, and the pain in his voice was too much for Cas to bear.

“My lord…” he began, and hesitated.

“Please call me by my name, Cas.” The pain was now laced with deep, sorrowful weariness that Cas could feel in Sam’s arms, flowing through his body as he squeezed Cas tightly.

“Sam,” Cas said gently, caressing his back. “I’m sorry. I… I love you so much, and your suffering—I wish so much to ease it—”

“You do,” Sam said, turning Cas in his arms to kiss him. After a slow, heated moment, he continued. “You have brought me an ease and a joy and a love I never thought possible, Cas. My own lightness of heart troubles me. Your kindness and warmth and love—I fear you will wish to take them all back. So I… tried not to take them when you offered them. The way you looked at me when you first came to Old Winchester… do you know, Cas, that day when you held Upstart’s head when she was wounded, and I saw you for the first time…”

“Yes, lo— Sam?”

Sam smiled tenderly into Cas’s eyes. “I… it was odd. When I took her reins back from you, brushed your arm and looked into your face, I swear I almost kissed you. I had the strongest urge, even that first moment. I could not think why, other than that I was lonely and you were the comeliest lad I’d ever seen. You… you also reminded me of someone.” There was a broken pause; Cas felt a shudder go through Sam, but then he continued as if nothing had happened. “I was stabbed through with fear at that moment—of you, and all that you were and might become to me, that could be my undoing, and more importantly, yours.”

Cas pushed himself as close to Sam as he could, wrapping him in his arms. Sam shifted to allow him closer, and gave a soft, involuntary moan as Cas wrapped even his legs around him. “Sam,” Cas whispered. “Will you tell me why? I do not understand. I… cannot see how you see yourself, or why. You must know that you are everything to me, a hero, so strong and handsome and upstanding and good, and more worthy of love than anyone I can possibly imagine—”

“No.” Cas barely heard the word exhaled, almost as if Sam did not mean him to hear it. He pulled back so he could look into Sam’s face, and was surprised when Sam flinched from his gaze, hiding his face in Cas’s neck.

Cas stroked his hair wonderingly. “How can you not believe it?” he asked, turning Sam’s face gently in his hands and kissing his furrowed brow. “I will never understand.”

“You will. Oh, you will, Cas. But not tonight.” Sam rolled Cas over and kissed him with sorrowful, intense passion; Cas’s heart instantly stumbled to a sprint as he returned the kiss. “Tonight, you are my love and I am yours, and I would love you again, one more time if you will have me.”

Fear spiked Cas’s blood and he clutched desperately at Sam. “Of course. I… I would always… lord, don’t say the last, don’t leave me—” Tears threatened to spill again, but Sam stilled them with a fierce embrace.

“I will never leave you,” he said hoarsely. He was breathing hard, desire ambushing them both, sliding Cas into position beneath him, fumbling for the massage oil. “Never, never. I would take you every day—oh, Cas—every day for the rest of my life. I would take you away from this place, somewhere far away where we would never be found, and just love you and love you again and again, forever, if you would—” 

He stopped, and looked down at the bottle of oil in his hand. He eased off of Cas, and pressed the bottle into Cas’s hand. “Cas,” he panted, his eyes slitted with desire, his erection hot and damp brushing Cas’s side as he rolled onto his belly. “I want you to take me. I want you inside me. You want to, don’t you?”

Cas froze, staring at the bottle. He had rarely even considered this possibility. He _did_ want to, he realized, looking down at Sam’s strong, incomparably beautiful body beneath him. But he was supposed to serve his lord. He stuttered, “I… lord, I—”

“My name. My name, Cas, please. Don’t be afraid. I want this. I want you to have this, have me—this once.”

“Sam,” Cas said tenderly. He knew what to do, and Sam’s moans as he plied him with oil dissolved his fear, and he took his beloved master, pressing all his love into him and through him, Sam’s intense pleasure urging him on. All the touches he’d ever wanted to give Sam, all the ways he’d ever wanted to love him that had been denied them both, he gave to him now, wrapping them both in bliss, sobbing words of love in a slow hurricane of ecstasy that gradually stilled, the calming winds carrying them both into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Cas woke in the thin, gray stillness of early morning. Deep, rich bliss filled his body before his mind could sort out why. He was skin to skin with Sam, wrapped close to him, cradled by his strong body, soft in sleep. He realized he had never seen Sam sleep before; he had always felt instinctively that Sam could not surrender into sleep in the presence of another person, and knew that his lord did not sleep much anyway. He stirred as gently as he could to peer into Sam’s face.

Sam slept heavily and deeply. His face was still stern, but young, a lad’s face and not a lord’s. Years of pain had sloughed off him. He stirred in response to Cas’s slight movement, and gathered him closer, sighing and caressing Cas’s back where his hands rested.

Cas felt that all he wanted in the world, for his whole life and beyond, was to stay exactly like this. He realized that his most treasured dream had come true. He had spent the night in his lord’s arms, as he’d feverishly imagined a thousand times, for years before Sam had even known his name. He felt, deeply, that he had all he could wish for.

His next thought was that he could now, so easily, lose everything.

His gasp woke Sam. “What’s the matter?” Sam murmured sleepily.

“Oh… oh, lord,” Cas said tremulously as he scrambled out of bed, searching fruitlessly for his trousers. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to fall asleep, and now…”

“Oh,” said Sam placidly. “You’re worried we’ll be found out.” He sat forward and hooked Cas with an arm, drawing him back into his embrace.

Cas dared not resist, but trembled against his master, taut as a wire, and Sam, bewildered, released him. “Cas,” he said gently, as Cas renewed his frantic search, “I’m _lord_ here, you realize.”

“Yes, but… you said we mustn’t… and I knew I mustn’t! And if Ylsa misses me and doesn’t know not to—”

“No one but I can release someone from my service,” said Sam coldly, and Cas froze at the change in his voice. The haughty, inaccessible lord had returned, and his heart shrank inside him, until Sam stood against him, taking his face in his hands, and the look in his eyes was so tender Cas was stilled and struck dumb.

“And I will never release you,” Sam said, and kissed him, so passionately and possessively that Cas’s knees actually buckled, and Sam laughed softly as he drew Cas onto the bed and held him in his lap.

“You’re mine,” Sam whispered between kisses, lipping Cas’s neck, tasting his ear as he spoke into it. He stroked Cas’s belly, moving his hand lower. “Mine to command, mine to take, to have in my bed, mine to fondle and tease whenever I want, mine to lick and suck and bite and make squeal, and make beg—you like to beg, don’t you?” Cas gasped as Sam shoved his hand down his trousers and squeezed Cas’s cock, already hard under his hand.

“Mine to grope while you serve me, to ogle and make come in your trousers, mine to fuck in the stable or in the kitchens or in the high seat, mine to shove my cock into five times a day if I want to… I can have you on your knees sucking my cock under the table while I hear the baron’s petitions, you’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, my little slave?”

To Cas’s intense pleasure and terror, Sam turned Cas over his knees like a child he planned to spank, and taking the massage oil from the bedside table, he squirted some onto his fingers and thrust them right into Cas, spreading him open.

Cas didn’t know why he struggled, when this was what he wanted more than anything, but he did. He fought Sam, struggling to break his grasp, and for one brief moment he succeeded, but all he could think to do with his freedom was turn in Sam’s loosened grasp and kiss him, holding his head in a desperately tight grip, thrusting with his tongue.

Sam returned the kiss, biting Cas’s lip, and wrestled with Cas, who fought frantically, sobbing with pleasure mixed with fear as their naked bodies slid together and bruised each other, and Sam came out on top, and threw Cas violently onto the bed on his knees.

He shoved Cas’s knees apart, seized his thighs in an iron grip, and began fucking him roughly, standing behind him. “I’ll fuck you whenever I want!” he half-shouted. “I could… unnnh! fuck you in the middle of that stupid tournament—take you in that pavilion and fuck your brains out ‘til you scream so the whole crowd hears you, and just keep riding you for hours... no one can stop me, and you _like_ it like this, you want me to fuck you harder!”

“Yes!”

“Tell me to fuck you hard!”

“Yes! Fuck me hard, harder! Fuck me, master, as hard as you can, fuck me, hurt me, fuck me ‘til I die!”

Sam slammed his hips against Cas’s, pounding into him, Sam’s hand jerking at Cas’s cock as if he would tear an orgasm out of him. It hurt inside him, like he was being split open, lightning striking him again and again, and the pain was an ecstasy that tore Cas apart.

He did scream then, and bit Sam’s hand when he clapped it over his mouth, and he cried out over and over against Sam’s strangely gentle fingers pressed to his lips as he came harder than he ever had in his life, so hard that his vision dimmed and he saw stars.

“Mine, mine, my little doll, my fuck toy, mine!” Sam growled as he rode him. “Tell me you love me!”

“I love you, lord, master, I love you,” Cas chanted, limp, destroyed beneath his master, and Sam cried out suddenly, smothering the sound against Cas’s shoulder, but he cried out again, over and over as Cas felt him spill into him, more and more until it seemed impossible, and Sam said his name, a hoarse whimper, before collapsing forward on Cas’s back.

Cas trembled beneath Sam’s weight as the sweat of their bodies cooled. Sam urged him under the covers and crawled in beside him, pulling him close in an iron grip Cas could not have escaped if he’d wished to. He hoped wildly that they had not been overheard, but Sam’s chambers had their own wing, and no one had cause to be here this early, and the walls were thick stone. Still, if he did not appear in the kitchens soon…

“That’s… still in me, Cas,” Sam said after a few minutes. He squeezed Cas even tighter, and his voice was heavy with regret. “I… it tears at my heart, to hurt you like that, but I…”

“You know how much pleasure it gives me… Sam,” Cas tried using the name again, and Sam sighed happily, so he continued. “We both like it so much. Why should you deny yourself this pleasure? You do me no harm.”

“Do I not, truly?” Sam asked. His voice was small and humble, and Cas hastened to reassure him.

“Truly! Not at all! When it hurts, I… I don’t know. I have wondered if there is something not right in me, because I like it. I crave it, both the rough treatment and the harsh words, and the… the intense pleasure, it’s like nothing else. You know I love for you to be tender with me…”

“I love that, too, Cas. I love you. I never want… that… to make you doubt it.”

“It doesn’t. It… makes it more real, somehow. That… that you wanted me to say I loved you, as your slave—it met a need inside me I feel I’ve always had. I need you to… to own me sometimes, lord. To make me obey and make me good.”

“But you are already so good,” Sam said, bewildered and tender. He lifted Cas’s chin so they could look into each other’s eyes.

Cas smiled, and lifted his chin for a kiss, and Sam gave it to him. “Thank you, lord,” he said. “If…. If that were the only way you took me or spoke to me, I would not feel that you valued me, but as part of it… I don’t know. Perhaps a… a peasant lad’s ramblings are no good to you.”

“Cas, never say that. That is what I definitely don’t want, for you to think of yourself as less because I do these things to you, or for any reason. I know everyone says it does, but how can what you were born matter at all? Was my father born to be a king, and Dean and I princes? Who could ever have foreseen a Winchester on the throne? Do you know Sir Bobby’s mother was not just a peasant? She was a whore, and there is no knowing who his father was, except that there must have been some strain of noble blood, since Bobby has a little magic.”

“Sir Bobby… doesn’t know who his father is?” Cas felt a familiar, half-forgotten weight on his heart ease slightly.

“Indeed not. Like you. You don’t know, do you?”

“No. It… might be possible to get my mother to disclose it, in secret, if only to me. I did not try before I left. My eldest brothers were eager to see the back of me. And now I don’t suppose I will ever make the journey home.”

“Why not?”

“This is my home now.” Cas said it firmly, in case Sam ever needed reminding that he never wished to be sent away.

“But you could visit. Would you not wish to?”

“I am not sure,” Cas said honestly. “I miss Gabriel, and sometimes my other brothers, and my mother. But… Michael would not welcome me, nor would my fa—my mother’s husband. And I am not sure I could make the journey again; I am lucky to have made it here.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean? Did you meet trouble on the road?”

Cas knew what Sam meant by trouble. “There were no hauntings or monsters, lord. The trade routes are well cleared of those.”

“The trade routes? Those are _weeks_ longer than the courier roads. Don’t tell me you took only merchant’s routes to get here!”

In literal obedience, Cas did not know what to say. The routes he’d travelled were not weeks, but months longer, and were not the only delays he’d suffered.

“You did? What happened? How long did it take you?” Sam prompted finally.

“Eight months, lord.”

“Eight _months?_ Why on earth?”

“I… it is much to tell lord, and… and I know you are lord here, but if I don’t come to the kitchens soon, and Ylsa looks in my alcove for me, and the strange horse is discovered in the stable…”

Sam smiled sadly, rolling over so Cas could slide out of bed. “I won’t let any harm come to you if we’re discovered, Cas. Besides, I’m not sure that secrecy will serve us much longer. I… we will preserve it until I have told you all, in case you wish to leave then. But if you stay…”

He paused, and his face was so full of woe and longing that Cas, half-dressed, rushed back to kiss him, and Sam received it gladly, embracing him. He set Cas beside him and, to Cas’s thrilled embarrassment, helped him dress as Cas had helped him many times, neatly lacing his shirt as he spoke.

“If you stay,” he continued, “I have something different in mind, which I will tell you about when the time comes. If it does. There is much to tell you, and everyone will want to know the news from the capitol… but yes, I agree, you must make an appearance in the kitchens now, and after you bring me breakfast, you can tell Ylsa that I have a special project I need assistance with in the library, and come there as soon as you may.”

* * *

Cas went to the bathing room before he ventured to the kitchens, and neatened himself as much as he could in his haste. There were bits of straw in his clothes and hair, and he was extremely conscious of his red, swollen mouth, and the marks on his neck. But when he buttoned his collar all the way, the marks were hidden, and he hoped the rest could be overlooked. He did not have time to bathe or clothes to change into, and he could not get to his alcove without Ylsa seeing him in the kitchen, so he simply removed every tiny bit of straw, washed his face in cold water, and hoped for the best.

By the light, it was not as late as he’d feared when he came into the kitchen, apologizing for his lateness as calmly as he could while he tied on his apron. To his relief, Ylsa was her usual cheery self.

“I told you you’d time off if you needed it, dear,” she said, surprising him with the endearment. He was filled with a rush of gratitude for the comfort she’d offered yesterday. “You’ll be the better for a rest, I know. But I’m glad you’re here—I need you to take a tray up. Did you hear? There’s a strange horse in the stable. Lord Sam’s returned.”

“I know,” Cas said, again striving for casualness. He and Sam had worked out a story, in case anyone had seen anything. As Sam said, putting as much truth as they could into the tale would give people less to speculate about. “I was waking because I went to sleep before supper, and I saw the light in the stables. I helped him put up his horse and brought him food and fresh clothes.”

“Good lad! I hate for him to come home to a cold welcome, but I can’t keep up with his odd hours, I declare. I’d have done it myself if needed, but I sleep like the dead these days, so I’m grateful you were there.”

For some reason, Ylsa’s open goodness flooded Cas with shame. Though he had told no lie, he felt as though he had, and of course the whole matter of having been Sam’s lover for months was a great deception beyond an ordinary lie. He had let Ylsa believe he’d courted a lass and she’d broken his heart, that he served Sam so enthusiastically merely because he was good, loyal servant, and the kind mothering she’d given him felt cruelly undeserved.

He could say nothing, but fortunately she did not seem to notice as he busied himself with Sam’s tray. He remembered what he was supposed to say at the last moment, as Ylsa handed him the teapot.

“Lord Sam mentioned an important project he would need my help with today in the library,” Cas said, hoping guilt didn’t color his voice. “Shall I help you tidy up after I bring the tray back, or go straight there?”

Ylsa glanced at him, and the guilt was almost too much. Perhaps she did notice something then; a bare second passed before she answered him. “Best attend the lord as soon as you may,” she said finally. Was it only Cas’s burning conscience that made her bright warmth seem to dim? “It’s not like our lord to say something’s important unless it’s terribly so. Do what you can for him.”

Flushing as he turned away, Cas hastened to obey.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam was affectionate when Cas brought him breakfast, embracing and kissing him as if they’d been parted days instead of less than an hour, but after Cas served his breakfast, there was a sad distance in him. Cas wanted to do all he could for him, and as he worked, it struck him that he had never seen Sam so still and unoccupied. Normally when Cas worked in his chambers or the library, Sam was always doing something—writing, researching, even occasional exercises with sword or hand to hand combat moves. Now Sam simply sat in his chair, staring at nothing. A heavy weight seemed to bow his shoulders. Finally, after Cas had made his bed, tidied his chambers, unpacked his saddle bags and gathered all his dirty clothes from them for the laundry, he approached Sam where he sat at his table over a mostly-untouched breakfast.

“Are you well, lord?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, I’m well, Cas,” Sam answered, glancing at Cas as if he’d just noticed he was there. “Thank you… for all of this.”

“You know I am happy to serve,” Cas said. “Would you like a bath now?”

Sam seemed hardly to hear him. He had slipped into a reverie again, but after a moment of silence, he looked up and said, “Yes, thank you.”

Cas worried as he prepared the bath, both about Sam and about Ylsa, who uncharacteristically said nothing to him as went in and out of the kitchen carrying coppers of water. When he returned to Sam’s chambers, to his surprise Sam still sat exactly as he’d left him.

Cas cleared his throat. “Your bath is ready, lord,” he said. Struck with inspiration, he allowed suggestiveness to creep into his voice as he said, “I would be most pleased to assist you, lord.”

Sam looked up at him then, briefly. He smiled ever so slightly. “That sounds… nice,” he said finally.

Impulsively, Cas bent to kiss him, embracing him tightly. Sam returned the embrace, easing Cas to sit in his lap, and kissed him at length. “Lord,” Cas said when Sam paused in the kiss. “Truly, are you well? What can I do to help?”

“You cannot help,” Sam said softly. “And… I am not well, Cas, but I have never been.” He gently put Cas on his feet and stood up.

“A bath… does sound nice,” he said again, and Cas followed him to the bathing room.

Sam took off his clothes and climbed into the steaming bath. Cas freely admired his strong, beautiful form. He had felt the strength of those corded arms, seen his lord fight with skill and grace, and knew him to be capable of dealing death swiftly and justly. Though his thickly-muscled body reflected that great strength, though he was so tall his legs spilled over the edge of the large bathing tub, somehow he looked small to Cas now. Vulnerable and sad.

Cas was trained in assisting a noble in the bath, but Sam had never allowed it before, so he had never actually performed the service. Instead of the courteous, distant methods he’d learned at service academy, he took up the soap and sponge and caressed Sam lovingly with them. He paused to kiss a scar here, Sam’s furrowed brow there. He lifted Sam’s limbs with great tenderness before he soaped them, turning his head to kiss Sam’s fingers where he’d draped the long limb over his shoulder.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, utterly still under Cas’s attentions. Cas drained the tub, helped Sam out of it, and led him to the bench where bathers could rest and take steam if desired. Sam sat passively while Cas dried him. When he’d finished, before he fetched Sam’s clothes, he looked down and notice that Sam was very hard. He did not move or speak. Cas looked into his face, reached to brush his wet hair back tenderly, and Sam sighed, turning his head to kiss Cas’s wrist.

Cas knelt between his legs and caressed his thighs, moving in. “May, I, lord?” he whispered, taking Sam’s hardness gently in his hand.

Sam, still gazing at him, nodded. He was silent except for a slight huff of breath as Cas took him in his mouth. As Cas serviced him with all his skill and tenderness, slowly Sam’s hand stole to Cas’s neck, caressing, almost as if he hoped Cas wouldn’t notice. As if Cas would stop him. He remained silent until Cas brought him to climax, then he gave a soft, despairing cry that became, “Oh, Cas, Cas…”

Cas fumbled hastily to sit on the bench next to him, and took him in his arms. He saw tears on Sam’s face before he lowered it to Cas’s shoulder. Sam wept while Cas held him and rocked him and whispered, “Sam, I love you. I love you, so much.”

“I love you, too,” Sam whispered at length. “Oh, Cas. I tried not to. I don’t want to destroy you. I want to keep this…”

Cas held him for a long moment. “You are… unwell because of what you must tell me,” he said finally.

“Yes.”

Cas nodded, and stood. “Please, lord,” he said, fetching Sam’s clothes. “Let us not put it off any longer. I know I will love you no matter what. I would like you to know it. I wish to know everything.”

Cas started to help Sam into his clothes, but Sam stopped him gently, taking them and dressing himself.

“Yes,” he said, after a long moment. “Let us go to the library.”

* * *

Sam led Cas to their secret alcove, and lay down for the first time on the new feather tick Cas had brought there. Cas lay down beside him. Sam did not speak for a long moment. Finally, Cas said, “Lord… I know I’ve no right. I’m only a servant lad…”

“You’re much more than that,” Sam interrupted. He cradled Cas’s head in his arms, kissing the top of it. “And you have every right. Forgive me, Cas. I am a coward.”

“Never that, lord. It’s just… I feel that if you told me, it would not weigh so heavy. I… I don’t know how, what I could offer, but I would give anything, do anything to help you. If I knew more, maybe I could.”

“You cannot help,” Sam said softly. The pain in his voice was a torment to Cas, but the more of it there was, the more affection Sam showed him; he was stroking Cas’s back now, kissing his hair. He turned Cas’s head in his arms and kissed his mouth softly; Cas leaned into it, squeezing Sam tightly.

“No one… can help,” Sam continued after a moment. “But I think I must tell you. I must finally say everything aloud. No one knows it all, not even Dean. And once you do… Castiel.” He pronounced Cas’s full name with a heavy formality as he put Cas back from him gently so he could look into his eyes. The pain in that haunted particolored gaze, as Cas met it, was such a shock that Cas bit back a cry of dismay, reaching to touch Sam’s face.

Sam pressed the proffered hand to his face and kissed it before continuing. “Castiel,” he repeated firmly. “Once you know, you may wish to leave this place and never return. You may… resent me for taking you as lover, revile me for touching you, using you, when you didn’t know.”

“No,” Cas moaned, unable to keep silent.

“Yes,” Sam said, his tone irrevocable. “And you must promise me something before I speak. If you feel that way, you will go. I will give you a horse and money and a letter instructing any place of learning, any school you wish to attend, to admit you. You will not stay out of a sense of obligation. You will shed this… this ridiculous conception that you are nothing but a servant. You will not need to disabuse yourself of the notion that you cannot do better than me as your lover; my story will take care of that.”

“No, lord,” Cas said again, pleading.

“YES.” said Sam, and he gave Cas a little shake, startling him. “In this one last thing, you will obey me. Cas. _You don’t know._ You can’t know how you’ll feel until you know what I truly am. All I ask is that you _see_ it, and tell me the truth of what you feel, and if it breaks you from me, don’t… don’t torment me, Cas! Or yourself. Let me be very clear.”

Cas could not speak, but he made himself nod.

“You will make this exact promise. If, when I have told you everything, you no longer love me, and you fear for your life remaining near me—you will leave Old Winchester. And… and for friendship’s sake, I ask; I cannot demand, that you never speak to anyone of what you know, as long as you live.”

“I would never betray you,” Cas said miserably.

“I know,” Sam said, with a tenderness that wrenched Cas’s heart. He kissed Cas’s forehead, then his eyes as they closed. “You would never betray… the me you see now, that you have come to love. I know. But you are about to meet someone to whom you owe no allegiance, and who may inspire more fear and revulsion than you have ever felt. That’s why I… tried not to let you love me, and ordered you not to say it. I fear you will regret your words, and your trust and service, and… and if you do, I will not blame or punish you for it. You will leave, and… I hope remember this part of me with enough charity to keep these terrible secrets. Make the promise, Cas.”

Cas swallowed. Fear had threaded itself all through him. He could not believe he would ever not love Sam, but he still feared what he would say, how his life would change once he knew. He could see no way out but forward.

“I promise,” he whispered.

* * *

“I don’t know if you can imagine what it was like,” Sam said at length, and his voice sounded different from how it ever had—both younger, and somehow more like nobility. Like the prince he was. “The most desperate days of the war, at its height. It started here in Old Winchester—that desperation—years before it reached the capitol. Did you live there, at King’s Bastion, during the war?”

“Yes,” Cas answered. “Or, not in the city itself—we moved to Merchantstown, on the outskirts, after the war began.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“A village on the water, to the south. Port Key, it was called.” Cas’s father had built his business there, in that thriving port, married a peasant woman from the village and made a home there, long before Cas was born. “Father decided we weren’t safe there when I was about ten.”

“Yes, it was safer near the capitol. When I was growing up here, there were many more people living in Old Winchester. If you ride a day north or east, you can see the abandoned towns, and dozens of burned farms and homesteads. I hoped people would come back after the war, but… they haven’t.”

He was silent then, so after a long moment, Cas ventured, “Those lands are rumored to still be haunted, lord.”

“Oh, they are, I suppose. But nothing out of the common way. Resourceful farmers and hardy homesteaders could deal with a few ghosts and the occasional troll or werewolf—but everyone is frightened now; I understand that. That’s why I hunt so often. I wish the lands clear of all dark things, so that… well. It’s foolish.”

“It isn’t, lord. Perhaps you… wish for the Old Winchester you remember.”

Sam held Cas a little closer. “I wish for… many things. But only since I met you, Cas. I wish it could always be like this, for example. Soon I must not hold you anymore, and I’m being a coward, dragging my feet. All right. So.”

His expression hardened a bit. “Most can’t imagine what it was like, I was saying, here on the edge of the world, the edge of nightmares and death and the end. The… the demons.”

Cas sat very still. Almost no one spoke of demons anymore; few people would even say the word. No one where Cas grew up had ever seen one, except perhaps Michael and his regiment. But he knew the people of Old Winchester had seen them, and some had fought them.

Perhaps feeling Cas’s stillness beneath his hands, Sam slowly withdrew them, and gently moved away so that they were not touching. Cas looked up, stricken, thinking to move back into Sam’s arms, but somehow, Sam’s sad, gentle smile stopped him.

“Many of them were our own people, or at those who would wish us no harm. Like the folk of the frozen northern kingdom… the portal first opened close to that border, though it closed near here, as you know. The northern folk were a good people, if different from us. But the demons possessed so many of them; they came against us in uncounted hordes. 

“We had to kill them. You’ll have heard that I found a powerful spell that could kill them, when applied to a weapon and wielded by a magic-user. My spell arrows, and Dean’s spell-sword. We armed every knight with a trace of magic blood in their veins with them, but we were nearly too late. That was years into the war, after the whole royal family and most of the nobility were wiped out. It wasn’t until almost the end of the war that we found a way to exorcise demons without killing the vessels, and even when we did, the people… did not last long. Most went mad, and some killed themselves.”

Sam paused, and looked down at Cas. “I fear to tell you too much, lad. I know these are painful things to think on, but you were young when all this happened, and what I have to tell you won’t mean much if you don’t know it all.”

Cas did not point out that Sam was only five years older than himself. Everyone knew the Winchester sons, especially Sam, were children when the war began. It was widely said that Sam had been a man at thirteen, because he’d had no choice. If it hadn’t been for the fact that there was no other choice—that John Winchester had used his children this way as a bulwark against the end of the world—folk might have criticized him for what he’d done to his sons. Others said he couldn’t have kept them from the war if he’d tried.

“I want to know everything, lord,” Cas answered softly.

Sam nodded. “Well—everything includes genocide, even if we can’t entirely be blamed for it. We… Father sent an emissary to the north, to see what remained of their kingdom. She couldn’t _find_ a kingdom. Their main city was utterly destroyed. The emissary—Dame Jody is her name; you may have heard of her—saw only the occasional sign, in a whole month’s journey, that any people at all remained, and they fled and hid from her. She was sick with horror for weeks after she returned. She said the burned and blasted villages stretched for miles and miles, as far as she and her party could ride in all that time. That was the demon dragons, no doubt. The folk that the demons didn’t possess were fed to their allies, the dragons.”

This, Cas did not know. The dragons were a matter of wild rumor. Some historians theorized that they were not real creatures at all, but an illusion cast by the demons to horrify people so much they could not flee or fight possession, and all the burnings were committed by those driven mad by possession.

Sam seemed to see Cas’s thoughts on his face. “Yes, the dragons were real,” he said. “I saw one that…” He stopped for a long moment. Cas looked up at him, and instinctively moved closer, circling Sam with his arms. Sam seemed frozen for a moment, then leaned into Cas’s touch. He cleared his throat.

“I saw one that the Great Demon kept in his camp. You’ve heard it said that my brother killed a dragon? It’s true. I… was senseless at the time, but I know what he said of it was true. He had to kill it to rescue me from the camp; the… the Great Demon was gone, but the dragon remained. Dean is the only living dragon slayer; isn’t that something?” 

Sam tried for a light tone, but Cas could feel the icy dread that washed over him and stopped his words when he neared the matter he had never spoken of, though his people and the historians and his own father, Cas knew, had asked him many times. Sam was going to tell Cas what happened in the demon camps. Unless Dean knew—he had not told anyone who asked him, either—Cas was about to be the only person alive who knew how Sam had vanquished the Great Demon.

“A bare handful of refugees, not above two dozen, came here to Old Winchester a few months after the portal was closed. I wasn’t… myself yet, so Dean gave them shelter. One family that I know of remained in our county; the woman is the herbalist in South Campbell I’ve studied with a few times. The rest went to the Citadel and other places. None made it as far as King’s Bastion that I know of.

“The people like to say that we killed demons—Father, Dean and I, Bobby and those we led. It’s not true. No one can kill demons, not the true ones. There were monsters that they brought with them, lesser demons, that our people and the northern kingdom’s folk fought and killed by the thousands. Those were the first wave. I killed my first minor demon when I was eleven.

“As for true demons, with spells and tricks, what we did was slaughter our own people, uncounted thousands of the northern kingdom, and others of countries north and east. When we were lucky, this sent the demons possessing them back through the portal.”

Cas was determined not to flinch at this confirmation of the rumors he had heard. Possessions had only taken place near the portal, and some in the capitol did not even believe in them. They liked to believe that their countryfolk, many thousands of them, had all died fighting the demons and the creatures who served them. Educated folk knew it wasn’t true, but the belief had never been discouraged among the common people. Cas understood why. Terror of possession would have torn the country apart with paranoia and superstition.

“Do you know why the Winchesters were so well-suited to dealing with demons?” Sam asked softly.

“No, lord. Why?”

“Because of the magic in our blood. Same reason our family grew more obscure and ostracized over the generations. You know the nobility considered it bad taste to _do_ magic, but they thought it even worse taste to be so capable of it.”

Cas did know this, but there was much he did not know. “How… other than the spells you knew, is there a reason why magic in your blood helped you in the war, lord?”

“Yes. It made us difficult or impossible to possess. In order to take us, a demon would need… consent.”

Cas went cold at the word without knowing why. He was full of dread suddenly. This was the key to his lord’s great secret. This…

“I consented,” Sam said, and his voice was strangely casual, soft and refined. “I let the Great Demon in and let it use the power in my blood. With my hands it killed my friends, my countrymen, women, children and innocents… I saw most of it. I was there, but can no longer count how many these hands have killed.”

He looked down at his hands, face utterly blank. Cas could not speak.

“I do not ask your forgiveness for these crimes,” Sam said, still with the odd matter-of-fact tone. “There can be no forgiveness for me. I should have died for what I did… what I allowed done. But I had a reason, and I will tell you what it was.

“My father, Dean, and I knew that we must save our country. There were none but us who could. Sir Bobby researched the spells with us, but he did not have the power in his blood for the greater works. It turned out our father did not, either. Dean and I inherited magic from the Campbell side as well. I believe we are the most magical people left in all of Lawrence.”

Cas nodded. He knew all of this; the magic of the Winchesters was credited with winning them the war. He had been raised with the belief that magic _attracted_ the attention of unwholesome otherworldly things. That belief was the reason true magic had all but died out among the nobility by the time John Winchester was born. His family and that of Mary Campbell had secretly kept traditions alive, and Old Winchester had such an unfashionable reputation largely because magic was practiced openly there. Cas had seen more small spells and everyday cantrips, casually performed, in his first week at Old Winchester than in his whole life before that.

“There was no one but us to save our people. And Dean… he tried, and he could do more than most, but he was not inclined toward magic. Put a sword in Dean’s hand, and magic of another kind happens, but he did not have the patience or gifts of language to make the best use of the magic in him.

“I did. I was _good_ at magic. You’ll forgive the brag, but with Bobby’s help, I became better at it than anyone in living memory. I found a spell—in secret, in this very library—that I believed could banish the Great Demon and save our people. And all it would cost me was my life.”


	14. Chapter 14

“I knew Dean would never permit it,” Sam continued. “I knew Father would insist on making the sacrifice himself, and would never admit that he wasn’t strong enough. So I gathered the ingredients for this spell—all but the final one, and I crept away from our encampment near Singer Citadel to make my sacrifice.

“The final ingredient, you see, was the blood of the Great Demon himself. The spell, which took days and many sacrifices to complete, would destroy it, and in so doing break the will of the other demons, sapping their power. The vessels taken would be lost back through the portal, I knew. So many of our people. You can’t understand the choices we made back then, Cas. The world was ending. It would have ended. I believe that still. So I sacrificed the lives of those possessed to save the rest of the kingdom. I thought, if my own is first, perhaps someday many lifetimes from now I can be forgiven. It is a bitter joke that I yet live.”

Cas opened his mouth to protest. Sam’s pain was filling him as he spoke, and the longing to comfort him was almost unbearable, but he could feel a barrier in Sam to his touch. He fought it, moving closer with his hand outstretched. Sam glanced at Cas’s hand and did not take it. He gave a small, sad smile.

“You don’t see it yet?” he said softly. “You would still touch me? Well, there is more to tell. I will give myself this, one last time.”

He did take Cas’s hand then and drew Cas to him, embracing him and kissing him softly. Cas kissed him back with an ocean of tender passion. He clung hard to Sam, who seemed surprised, then gratified by the response. They kissed at length, and Cas tried to cling to Sam when Sam finally broke the kiss, but Sam, much stronger, gently put Cas back from him.

“I would not end this,” Sam said, closing his eyes in an expression of great pain. “I would forget these words and shove these memories away, as I have for years, and take you to me and find a way to keep you forever. My Cas. But you would not love me for it, and I must no longer be a coward. Please. Hear me.”

“Of course, lord,” Cas said, and sat back where Sam put him, with a foot of distance between them. It felt too far, and this must have shown in his face, for Sam smiled again.

“You may soon decide a kingdom’s distance between us is not enough,” he said. “But let me continue. I found the secret encampment of the Great Demon. When I reached it I was weak unto death. I’d done many spells to find it, and the main spell was the biggest I had ever attempted, draining my blood and life not once, but many times. This I did on a long, hard winter journey that killed two horses beneath me, and I don’t know why it did not kill me, but I found it. Him. The greatest evil you can imagine, Cas. And I let him inside me.

“The last element to trip the spell was his blood. I knew that I must be close enough to him for him to kill me. My greatest fear was that he would kill me from a distance, and all would have been for nothing, so I… I…”

His cool detachment crumpled as Cas watched. He folded in on himself, and covered his face. Finally he continued. “I seduced him.” He bit the words off bluntly, and Cas’s felt a tide of ice rush through his blood. It was a moment before Sam continued. “I knew that he had a preference for young men, and I thought perhaps I was comely enough. He raped often, but I also knew that he preferred to take willing lovers; he was a great seducer, and it had happened before. Once I got there, I could think of no other way to get close enough to him, so I allowed him to take me as his lover, and Cas, I… I nearly betrayed my family and my country and everything I believe for him, for he deceived me. I expected every torment at his hands, and got it in the end, but he… toyed with me, and cast spells on me and made me… believe he loved me, and I him. I… spent weeks as his sex slave, much as you have sometimes served me… and I am sorry, Cas, so sorry to have used you this way; I am utterly reprehensible. I wanted to feel the other side of it. I wanted you, as I have wanted no one and nothing since the war, and I selfishly took you when I _knew_ the consequences and… but… there is more. That probably seems quite enough, but it didn’t end there.

“The spells, the belief that he could love me, clouded my mind and made me forget my purpose. He promised to turn aside from evil, if I would stay with him. He would kill no more and leave our lands, if I would stay by his side and serve his needs always.

“He possessed me at times to use my power, but he had another vessel, or perhaps it was his own body; I have never been sure. He appeared as a handsome young man, but when he possessed me, I never saw that man… perhaps he never existed. So much is a blur, unreality mixed with horrible nightmares I could not wake from. But somehow, in arrogance or ignorance, because of his magic or my own foolishness, I believed I could… save him instead of destroying him.”

Sam stopped speaking for a long moment, and his pained breathing was harsh in the silence. Cas wanted, unbearably desperately, to comfort him, but he could not move.

“I wished… I wished to deal no more death,” Sam continued. “I was so tired of bloodshed—even the shedding of evil blood. I have killed since I was a lad of eleven—younger, even. I hated that my life seemed worth nothing else, that love could effect nothing—only hate could. My father’s hatred of dark things, which my brother inherited, but which I could never quite embrace. How did we _know_ all was darkness inside these creatures? But I had been fooled before, more than once when it nearly cost me my life or my brother’s, so I should have known, Cas. I should not have believed him.”

When Sam did not speak for a long moment, Cas fought the ice encasing him into utter stillness to whisper, “You were so young, lord. And he was ancient, and the magic…”

“You try to excuse me, still? You would forgive me?”

“Yes… of course!” Cas stirred himself, passion burning away the freezing horror. “You were little more than a child, and you went into the heart of evil prepared to give your life to save the world, and you did! You did, lord.” He leaned forward and embraced Sam tightly. As the horror receded, a relief flooded him. Sam had been so sure that Cas would leave him when he learned everything, had said it so often, that Cas had begun to fear he was right. “You won the war, and… and if evil won some battles before you could—Sam,” Cas said, reminding himself to use his beloved’s name. “I am sorry for your suffering, and the weight you bear. So sorry, and I know you cannot just lay it aside, but—”

“There is more.” Sam had welcomed Cas’s embrace and returned it, and he did not push him away now, but he was still and stiff. “You have no idea how much I wish to believe in your forgiveness, bask in it, take you to me and say nothing more. But I can’t, Cas.”

Cas released him reluctantly, cold creeping back through him. He could not help but wonder how Sam’s tale could possibly get worse. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I was under the thumb of the Demon. I fought him still, because beneath the spells, I could feel that what he felt for me was far from love. There may have been a kind of… affection, as one has for a favorite possession. A plaything. He felt triumph at having my power to use. I overheard him speaking with his generals. He had no intention at all, of course, of stopping his assault on Lawrence or turning away from evil.

“So I gathered what little of my mind and spirit was still my own. It was like trying to make a blanket out of a few tattered threads. I don’t know how long it took me. It could have been hours, or weeks. I was so far away, Cas. I was… broken. 

“I can’t remember much of it. All I remember clearly is that the Great Demon was killing, with my hands and my magic, and I glimpsed something… something that my shattered heart still remembered, something too precious to let go. I had no words, no real recognition; my mind was like that of a very young child. So it is good, then, that I saw the one thing even my youngest self would recognize.”

“Lord Dean,” Cas whispered, then covered his mouth, horrified that he had interrupted.

But Sam smiled faintly. “Yes. My brother came for me, and the Demon was about to use my vessel to kill him, and for just a moment, I surged back into my body, and cut my own wrist for the blood to trip the spell. It had been weeks; I didn’t know if it would work. But it did. And I died as the Great Demon was destroyed.

“You must understand, Cas. I do not exaggerate. I was gone—in another place. I don’t remember it, but I can feel it sometimes. Waiting for me. But before I made it to that other place, and in the throes of his destruction, the Demon spoke to me.

“He cursed me. He laughed at me, and said that I had destroyed myself more utterly than he could ever have destroyed me. He told me that I had found a spell no one would ever use, because I did not know its price, but he did. I remember every word of his curse.

‘You will destroy all that you love. Anyone who dares come close enough will be burned to cinders. You have taken my evil inside yourself, Sam Winchester, and you will continue its work. You may have killed me, but my victory is utter and complete. You have set the seal on it yourself.’”

* * *

Sam was silent for a long time. The only sound in the alcove was his breath—slow, measured, but harsh. Cas, unsure of how to break the silence, began to feel that Sam _decided_ on each breath he took. Cas became anxious, listening for the next one, afraid Sam would choose not to take it. Sam’s pain reverberated through him until his bones vibrated with it.

“But, lord,” he said, anguished. “How do you know… what it means, or that it had any power? Of course the demon would say—”

“Cas,” Sam interrupted, and Cas was startled by the change in his voice. It was cool, utterly relaxed and casual. “Do you know whose clothes you wear?”

It was such a strange question in this context that Cas’s mind went blank. Was Sam using a metaphor for the role he filled, perhaps? He stared at Sam for a long moment. “Ah—what? I—” 

“This,” said Sam. He moved closer to Cas, and his presence felt cool and dangerous. Cas, who always yearned to have him close, now found himself wishing to shrink back. He forced himself to hold still as Sam fingered the cuff of Cas’s gray-brown shirt. “Where did you get it, and the other clothes you wear?”

“Oh—from Ylsa, lord.” Cas glanced down at himself. There had been no need to replace the clothes Ylsa had given him when he first came to Old Winchester. “They were her son’s clothes.”

“Yes. Aury. Do you know I killed him?”

A wave of cold stole Cas’s breath. He could hardly speak around his dread. “When… when you were possessed, lord?”

“No. After.”

Cas stared at Sam. His lord’s voice was casual, his manner off-hand. “I recognized the clothes you wear as his, because I took them off him many times. Aury was my lover.”

Cas felt gutted. The pain was nearly as terrible as the fear. Was Sam trying to hurt him, to make him leave? Then something occurred to Cas. He pounced on it with relief. “Was _he_ possessed, lord? So you had to kill him?”

“No.” 

A silence stretched. When Sam finally spoke, his manner had changed. It was painfully gentle. “You… haven’t fled yet, Cas. You… you needn’t try to find a way to make it all right. Aury loved me, and I killed him. Snapped his neck with my own hands, not even in battle… Aury made it through all the battles of the war. He could have come home to Ylsa, if not for me.”

“I want to understand,” Cas said firmly. “I can tell you are not telling me all, lord. Why did you kill him?”

Sam did not speak. His breathing grew harsher, until Cas realized he was weeping.

“Because I’m cursed. Because he startled me. Because there’s something wrong inside me. Do you see, Cas? I loved him, and I destroyed him. Those were the words of the curse. ‘You will destroy all that you love. Anyone who dares come close enough will be burned to cinders.’ Aury came too close.”

“Please tell me what happened, lord.” Cautiously, he stole close to Sam, and put his arms around him. Sam looked up in surprise. He looked down at Cas’s arms, lifted his own hesitantly, and held him very gently. Cas felt his tears drip onto his neck before he continued.

“You know what happened between Dean’s rescue of me and the end. He carried my lifeless body out, somehow I woke up, we routed the demons. We were joined by all the warriors Rufus could gather to Old Winchester when he heard Dean had planned a rescue. Aury was with them. They were going to give their lives in a last stand, but most of them didn’t have to. Those are the knights of Old Winchester today, and they have kept whatever secrets they know.

“We were on our way home after the last action. I… had spoken to no one yet, not even Dean. I didn’t know why I had been sent back. I often thought I was still dead, and this was some strange hell where battle never ended. I was filled with… an unholy power. I don’t know if it was my own magic, ramped up because the Great Demon had been using me, or some essence of him left in me, but I have never fought so well or brutally. I killed and killed. I would have chased every demon to the ends of the earth if I’d had to. I didn’t sleep or eat, for I didn’t believe I was still flesh. I was mad, Cas. Thoroughly mad. The warriors were terrified of me. No one spoke to me in the camps at night. They took orders if I thought to speak them, but it was Dean who led us.

“I sat watch every night, because I did not sleep. We were only ten miles from Old Winchester. Dean kept trying to get me to stand down, saying there was no one left to fight. But every time he said that, we found more enemies in our path home. I was sure there would always be enemies. I am still sure of it. The dark does not sleep, Cas. It is still out there, waiting for me.”

Cas now understood Sam’s solitary hunting trips, and the way Sam acted when he returned from them. He held Sam closer.

Sam sighed deeply. “Oh, Cas,” he whispered. “Again and again I am stunned you can remain near me. Do you have no regard for your own life? You… you need not fear leaving me. I will not… I know you have no reason to trust me, but I would not hurt you for wanting to leave. I will help you, as I promised. I will—”

“I will not leave you, lord,” Cas said firmly. “I want to understand how, and why, you killed Ylsa’s son. But… I would stay with you, no matter what. I know who you are, lord. And who you are, I love. Sometimes I feel I know you better than you know yourself. And if I could—if I can give you that knowledge, it will heal some of your fears. I would… I would forgive you everything, lord, and I wish to help you forgive yourself.”

“Dean wanted to forgive me, too. But I made him go. He’s the only one who knows… for sure, that it was I who killed Aury. If the other knights who were with us suspect it, they have never spoken. I could not bear for Dean to be destroyed, too. But he ignored my wishes, came back to Old Winchester with me, and tried to get me to come to the capitol with him once I was recovered. I… am frightened, when he visits, for I love my brother deeply and always will, and could not live if I destroyed him, too.

“And you, Cas. You, I love more than I ever loved Aury. I did love him, but we were young, bewildered by our attraction to men, and Aury was certain he would find a woman and marry, that his lust for men was temporary until he found the right woman. He constantly told me sex with me was only convenience, and when he could bring himself to tell me he loved me, he emphasized that it was only as his friend and liege.”

When Sam paused, Cas, though he dreaded the answer, could not help asking, “Was… that why you killed him, lord? A… a jilted rage?” 

“No!” Sam shouted. He looked revolted, even hurt, and Cas immediately regretted the words.

“I’m sorry, lord—”

“No,” Sam sighed, rubbing his temples. “I deserve it, and worse. The thing is, Cas… there was no reason. It’s no excuse—none—but I have obsessed over it a thousand times in the years since, and… I did not know it was Aury when I killed him. Dean has told me he knows it was so, many times. I… Cas. He came to me, I believe to comfort me, in friendship and love, when no one else but Dean would come near or dared speak. It had taken him days, I am sure, to work up the courage.”

Cas felt Sam trembling, and held him closer again. “How did it happen, lord?” he prompted after a moment.

“I was on watch. Everyone had gone to bed. I was some distance out, holding the perimeter. I… I was a taut bowstring, Cas. A loaded catapult, ready to spring to violence at any moment, and I did. Aury came out of the shadows next to me, and started to speak—my name, I believe—and… and he was dead before the word was complete. I… believed myself attacked. I seized him and snapped his neck, and I looked into his face and recognized him as he died. His eyes met mine as… as I choked off my name on his lips…”

His trembling was violent now. Cas held him as tightly as he could, but could not still it; the tremors nearly shook Cas loose.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, and Cas knew he was not speaking to him. “I’m so sorry…”


	15. Chapter 15

Cas clung to Sam’s trembling body. Though he did not move except for shaking, Cas felt that Sam was _fighting_ ¬—for his life even, against tears, against memory or truth or existence itself, and Cas could not blame him.

Horror had stalked him, circled him, and slowly wound its way around him while Sam was speaking, and now it bound him close. His mind was numb with all it now had to hold. Sam had not been metaphorical when he said, so many times, that he could destroy Cas. He believed it to be true, and perhaps it even was. Perhaps being Sam’s lover could cost Cas his life. It did not feel true, even now. What felt true was what always had—that it was the loss of Sam that would kill Cas, that staying by his side was Cas’s only path forward.

He knew he had to think carefully about this. He owed Sam and himself the truth. He did not want to die. Aury had not deserved to. Ylsa had not deserved to lose her son. And Sam did not deserve what happened to him, what made him unwittingly take the life of someone he loved.

If the curse was real, and still working, and if Sam’s love really could destroy Cas… well, would it destroy him any more certainly than would tearing himself away? It felt horribly wrong and unnatural to leave Sam, even when he could bring himself to contemplate it. Of course he did not want to die, and more, he hated the thought of what that would do to Sam. He knew—had always known—that his lord clung to the bare edge of sanity, and his grip was not strong.

Cas did not always think much of himself, but he knew he was good for Sam. He knew his service, his regard for his master, and his love were healing forces. He had been able to feel, even when Sam tried to turn away from him, that Sam needed him as much as he needed his lord. To leave him would tear them both apart.

Cas did not know what to do, but he knew he had to save his beloved master, and he knew that he would never leave Sam’s side, not even in the face of death.

* * *

Sam did not move except for trembling. Cas held him tightly, and when the trembling eventually stopped, he thought Sam might have slipped into sleep to escape what his mind could not hold. But when Cas carefully released him and sat up, he saw that Sam’s eyes were wide with unimaginable pain, staring into the far distance. He did not move or blink when Cas called his name.

Cas panicked a little when minutes became hours. They had not eaten dinner, and it was now suppertime. He had tried offering reassurances, speaking for long minutes, but he knew Sam did not hear him. He held and kissed him; Sam’s mouth was unresponsive, and it felt terribly wrong. Cas had no idea how to bring Sam out of this state.

Finally, he turned Sam into a comfortable position on his back on the alcove’s mattress. “Lord, you need food,” he said firmly. “I will return with some. Sam? I… I promise I will be back very soon.”

He kissed Sam’s forehead and slipped from the alcove, headed for the kitchens.

Sam did not take food in the library. When he was working, and Cas reminded him that it was time for a meal, he went to his chambers to take it. But Cas remembered that Dean had cared for Sam in the library when they returned from the war, and he knew he could not get Sam out of the alcove while he was unresponsive. Nor could he allow anyone else there; he had thought perhaps Sam needed a healer, but thought better of it. What was wrong in Sam could not be healed with medicine.

When he reached the door of the kitchens, he felt a deep prickle of unease about seeing Ylsa. Cas knew she still grieved Aury. He had not had a chance to ask if Ylsa knew her son was Sam’s lover. Ylsa had served Sam since the end of the war—the man who killed her son, and she did not know. What would it do to her if she did?

Troubled, he tried to plan how he would face her and explain why he was taking a tray to the library, but when he came in, she only nodded coolly to him and bustled to the pantry, where she stayed an unduly long minute. Cas was chilled. She did not want to speak to him. He fought a sudden surge of tears. He was all alone in this. Sam needed help, and he did not know how to give it, and the one other person in this world who cared for him— _had_ cared for him—perhaps no longer did. 

With everything in his heart sinking lower every second, he began to put food together for Sam. He was filled with guilt that he had not been present to help Ylsa prepare the evening meal. He had sometimes missed his evening work because he was working in the library with Sam, and Ylsa had always excused him, saying that helping Sam was more important, but now…

His hands shook as he filled a teapot from the kettle. Ylsa had returned and was silently stirring a pot that probably didn’t need it. Gathering his courage, he said, “Ylsa, I… I’m sorry I was not here to help you—”

“Doesn’t matter a bit,” she said in a cool, brisk voice he hardly recognized. She turned her back again, digging in the wood box to refill the stove—a task she usually left to Cas or asked him to do if he was present.

“I… I can do that,” he said, pained. He was terribly worried about leaving Sam alone too long, but he could not leave this as it was.

“I did it all for years before you got here, and I can do it just fine now,” she said, and Cas was dismayed that the coolness had dissolved, and there was something like pain in her voice as she opened the belly of the stove and fed it wood.

“Ylsa—” 

She slammed the door of the stove and started to turn toward Cas, then turned back. With her back still to him, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me you and Lord Sam were… were…”

Cas’s belly filled with ice, and he could not move his lips, to fill in the rest, mislead or confirm or reassure, and Ylsa turned back toward him.

Without meeting his eyes, she finished. “Lovers,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

Cas stiffened his spine to stand straight, despite tremors of guilt and fear running through him. “Yes,” he whispered.

Something in his voice made her look into his face. “Did you think me a fool? Or… or a gossip? A backwater-ignorant old—”

“Ylsa! No!” Cas couldn’t help it; his voice broke finally, and tears flooded out. “I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, lad.” Ylsa sighed and sat down at the little table at Cas’s elbow, rubbing her temples. 

“I… I couldn’t—Lord Sam said that no one must know—”

“Did he—take advantage of you, lad?” Her voice had softened, and she looked sad and anxious.

“No! Ylsa—he… he has been kind to me…” But Cas’s mind was intensely bewildered. He had sometimes wondered himself if he were being exploited, and thought that if anyone knew the kinds of things Sam had done to him, they would think he was. All his new knowledge flooded into him, the pain and fear and terrible worry for Sam. Cas was a person who took action to solve his problems, using raw determination to overcome the obstacles in his path. He had always been decisive, never looking back once a choice was made, but he did not know now what to do, and his worry and fear choked him.

“You’re so young,” Ylsa said softly. “Our lord is not much older, but I thought… I thought he would grow out of this oddity, and find a woman to marry, someone who could look after him when he gets—strange. When he allowed you to serve him, I was glad you could help him, and I never thought to worry about… this. When it was clear someone had broken your heart, and it was right after he left—I told myself it was someone else, some lass in the village. But I was a fool. You remind me so much of Aury, and—I was a fool about him, too.”

Cas’s heart froze anew at the sound of Aury’s name. Here Ylsa was, chastising him for keeping things from her, and something so much greater that she did not know lived in him now, a terrible, dark knowledge that threatened everything.

“I thought he would come home and get married after the war, and I’d have grandchildren to spoil, and he’d forget all about the… the odd things he did when he was a lad. The other boys, and then Lord Sam. They thought I didn’t know. I didn’t see any harm in it, but… it won’t go away, will it?”

“No,” Cas said gently. “I… was made this way, and I believe Lord Sam was as well. Ylsa… I love him. I did even before I came here. And he loves me—I believe that. But he… he’s not well… what he told me about the war—”

“He talked to you about it?” Ylsa said sharply.

“Yes,” Cas said, and his dread spiked. He could tell her nothing—not even what she had a right to know, because it was not his to tell, and was his most desperately important secret to keep.

“Well. I think you’re too young to hear such things, but the lord was too young to have such things happen, and… no one was old enough for that war. He must tell someone, so I’m glad for him.” Cas had sat down at the table with her, and she now reached for his hand and clasped it. “But it’s a great burden on you. Castiel—you needn’t, indeed I know you mustn’t, tell me or anyone else anything. But if Sam ever hurts you, or if you want to leave him—”

“I would never leave him. He… he tried to get me to, before he left for King’s Bastion, and… and you saw what that did to me. To us both, though our lord… Ylsa.” Cas squeezed her hand. “I—he is not well. He told me… many things, and they have made him—unwell. I don’t know what to do.” Tears spilled down his face and he dashed them away with his free hand.

“Does he just sit there, not speaking or hearing you?”

“Yes. He… he wept at first, but now…”

“It’s all right, lad.” She stood and patted Cas’s shoulder briskly. “He gets like this sometimes. This is the first time I’ve seen it when Lord Dean wasn’t here to help, but you can do what he does. Just stay with him.” She checked the tray Cas had been preparing and took the tea strainer out of the pot. “He’s in the library?”

“Yes.”

“You can take meals to him and sleep there. I’ll say nothing to anyone, lad. They’ll just think Sam is doing whatever he usually does and you’re helping him. I don’t think anyone else knows, though there might be rumors.”

“Ylsa, I…” Cas stood, gazing at her with a sudden flood of gratitude. “I’m sorry. I would have told you, of all people. I didn’t want to deceive you.”

“Well, I suppose you didn’t. You just let me draw my own conclusions, and they were the ones I wanted to draw.” She hugged Cas suddenly. “I love our lord and I’m grateful to him, never doubt that. And I love you—such a good-hearted lad, I can’t think ill of you for—not being like other lads. Not when my own lad wasn’t, no matter what I may have wanted for him. 

“I’ve told you before that you’re good for Lord Sam. I wouldn’t want to ever hear all that he’s seen, lad. I’m sad for you that you had to. It weighs heavy on you. But that’s love. You take the other person’s burdens, and it can make your own lighter, when it works as it should. I don’t see how that would work any different between two men than a man and a woman, but Cas… our lord’s burdens are heavy. He hasn’t been able to carry them. I just hope they won’t crush you. Always remember—you can make a different choice if you want to. And I would always help you.”

Cas could think of nothing to say, so he just hugged Ylsa tightly for a long moment, then left with the tray.

* * *

Cas brought the tray to the alcove. He used the kind with legs, so he set it up next to the mattress, and carefully crawled in next to Sam, who still sat unresponsive. After a moment, he put his arms around him. “Supper, lord.” He tried for a cheerful tone, but it came out in a cracked whisper. He was always near tears, now. Love for Sam, his bravery and his sacrifice, and terrible, wrenching empathy for his pain won out over the horror Cas felt at what Sam had told him. He cradled Sam’s head against his chest, let his tears flow, and choked, “I know you like Ylsa’s chicken and dumpling stew. The bread is fresh, the tea is brewed just as you like it, and… and the berries are over for this year, lord, but there are apples…”

He stopped, and merely held Sam close, letting his tears fall into Sam’s hair. He wept silently a few minutes, and then, it felt like a miracle when Sam stirred and sat up.

He took Cas’s hand in one of his and kissed it, brushing away Cas’s tears with his other hand. “You’re… still here,” he said softly.

Cas threw his arms around him. “Of course, lord!”

Sam melted into Cas’s embrace. He held him with infinite tenderness, kissing his hair. After a moment, he said, “I… I thought you might be gone when I came back to myself. I… wished to say goodbye, though I knew it would torment me. I kept the letter to Sir Bobby, in case Singer Citadel was where you wished to go, and… and I thought you might take Upstart’s colt. He is two years old now, and a good gentle horse. He… would not be hard for you to learn to ride. I… Cas…”

Sam crushed him close suddenly, turned him in his arms and kissed him deeply, and there was a frantic edge of passion to the comfort he sought and offered. It flared into an electric moment, and Cas felt Sam stiffen against his side before Sam pulled away abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” Sam gasped. “I… I feared this. Oh, Cas. I cannot promise I will not come after you. Perhaps… you should not tell me, after all, where you will go. Even when I wrote the letter, I knew if you went, it might be weeks, even only days before I rode to the Citadel to bring you back…”

“I will not go to the Citadel, or anywhere, lord,” Cas declared passionately. “I will not go, even if you send me. I need you, and I believe you need me. I would never be so faithless. I will always be where you are, and I will always love you.”

“Cas,” Sam whispered, anguished. He pulled Cas close. “I…can’t. I should make you go, Cas, but I can’t.” His hands wandered over Cas, increasingly sensual caresses he seemed hardly aware of, and they were both hard as Cas recklessly pressed himself close to him. 

“I am so afraid of what I will do to you,” Sam whispered, and his voice was hoarse with barely suppressed passion. His fingers slid to the laces of Cas’s shirt. “Yet… yet there is so much I _want_ to do to you.” 

Cas shuddered under Sam’s hands, and slid easily out of his shirt, returning Sam’s caresses. “I want you to,” he said, now helping Sam out of his clothes. “I want you to do everything to me…”

Sam groaned, a helpless sound, and pulled Cas’s trousers off, thrusting their mostly-naked bodies together. “Cas, I’m afraid… I’m afraid and I know it’s horribly selfish, but I must have you. I love you so desperately… Cas, I… am cursed, and… and I don’t care, I can’t stop…”

He moved Cas onto his back and pushed his knees back. He fumbled with the massage oil a bare moment before thrusting into Cas frantically; Cas arched to receive him.

“Sam,” he groaned. “I would never have you stop, ever. I… ah, ah, Sam! I am yours. I am yours forever!”

Sam cried out, almost wailing as he moved in Cas. “Mine, yes! Mine, and I am yours…” But his voice was anguished, not triumphant, and as he shuddered in ecstasy, he moaned, “You may die for this, my love. We… we may be destroyed…”

“Then let us be,” Cas gasped, clutching Sam, writhing beneath him. “Let us be destroyed… together.”


	16. Chapter 16

Cas lay in Sam’s arms after a long, intense bout of lovemaking that left them both sweating. Cas felt happily hollowed out and weak. Sam was curled around him, his breathing slowing to normal. 

Despite his romantic declaration, which he had meant with all his heart on one level, Cas did not wish to be destroyed, and he would never allow Sam to be if any sacrifice or action could keep him from it. His mind now began to work at the problem. He needed some time to cement a plan.

“Lord, you must be hungry,” Cas said. “I brought food.”

“You did?” Sam shifted to lie next to Cas and looked around, his eyes catching on the tray. “Ah, I see. You are very kind, Cas. I hope I didn’t frighten you. It’s been a while since it happened like that.”

Cas slipped out of bed and busied himself with the tray. “It did frighten me, a little,” he confessed. “Lord, I wish to help you. Where…” He paused trying to think of how to phrase his question. “Where do you go when it’s like that?”

“I… fight with my memories, and… they sometimes win,” Sam answered. He was looking down at his hands. Cas looked at him curiously, and finally recognized deep shame on Sam’s face.

“Lord,” he said cautiously, uncovering the tray and deftly arranging plates for them both. “I… you have told me so much, and I am grateful to know. Not…. Not for what you have endured,” he said awkwardly. “Well, grateful to you for enduring it, and saving us, and… and continuing to be here with… me, when I know the world feels strange and wrong to you.”

Sam looked up, startled by the words, and Cas could not interpret the intense emotion that crossed his face. He forged on. “I… do not know how to make it right. But I hope that we can. I would like to help you research this curse.”

Sam was still for a long moment. Cas began to fear he would lose himself in memories again, but then he blinked, and crawled off of the new feather mattress to sit on the cushion Cas had set before the tray for him. “Research it,” he murmured, as if to himself.

“Have you done so, lord? I suppose… you have not asked Sir Bobby.” Bobby was known as the holder of more knowledge of dark things than anyone in the kingdom, but Sam was his greatest student.

“No, nor Dean. No one knows of it but you.”

Cas was thoughtful as he poured tea for them both and Sam began to eat. He wondered how Sam had explained to Dean why he did not want him at Old Winchester, and why Sam would not come to King’s Bastion except under duress.

“And no, I haven’t either.” Sam said after a moment. “There… is nothing to research. Little or nothing is known of the magic of demons. They have their own, but it is not like Lawrence magic, that in the noble blood of our kingdom. That’s why demons wish to use ours.”

“It would seem,” said Cas carefully, “that yours has more power. And perhaps that mating them creates the greatest power of all. That’s why the Demon did so much damage when he possessed you, and why you were so powerful for a time after you killed him.”

Sam blinked at Cas again, and his gaze caught his face and stayed there. “Cas,” said Sam after a moment. “Why are you a servant? Why the service academy?”

Cas flushed a little. He did not want to give the real reason, so he gave Sam part of the truth. “It was a way forward, lord. A way to leave my family so they would not feel threatened by my illegitimacy when I came of age. I… was raised as a merchant, but I knew I would have to live as a peasant since my father’s blood is not known.”

Sam nodded for a moment. He was still gazing at Cas as though he knew there was more to it, but he said only, “Class matters not at all to being a scholar, though. You are educated, as are few who are not nobility, and your mind is extraordinary. You could have gone to the Citadel to learn research, or apprenticed to an herbalist. You are strong and graceful—you could even have gotten warrior’s training or become a hunter.”

Cas felt strangely emotional. He was not sure why, but his voice trembled as he said, “I… I wished to serve, lord.” _You,_ he did not add, but then his silence on the matter hurt, somehow, so he added, “At Old Winchester. I… have long wanted to come here.”

Sam’s piercing look softened a bit. “There is no place like Old Winchester,” he said, with a small smile. “But it does not have the grandeur it had before the war. So few people are left.” His smile grew sad. “But Cas… if you wished to come here, you could have; you need not have suffered through such a long journey and such humble service. I appreciate what you do for me and for Ylsa, but there is much else you could do.”

Nothing, Cas thought, that would have put him so close to Sam, in frequent range of his touch. “I like to serve you, lord,” he said, still with that strange emotion.

Though he didn’t understand it himself, Sam seemed to. “You were never told there was more you could do. You were never given a chance. I would like to give it to you now, lad.”

“I… I wish still to serve you, lord. I want… I want to be near you…”

Sam scooted close and took Cas in his arms. “I want you near, too. In fact, Cas… I am not inclined to ever let you go again, or to sleep another night without you in my bed. If you really have heard all and understand it, and you truly do not wish to flee, and… and you love me, as I love you, then it is time I did something about it.”

A thrill, half of fear and half of joy, rushed through Cas. “What will you do, lord?”

“It is what _we_ will do. But for one, I will not marry. Ever.”

Cas could not suppress the wild joy that seized him; he turned in Sam’s arms and kissed him, throwing his arms around his neck. 

Sam returned the kiss, deeply and gladly, and broke off with a little laugh after a moment. “I confess, it brings me joy to say it,” he said, smiling down into Cas’s face. “But… Cas, I do not know what it will bring. Dean has bought us some time, but my father will not be pleased. Especially when he finds out about us. He does not know of my attraction for men. I can’t tell how he will react.”

Sam had brought up so many questions that Cas did not know what to ask first. He settled on the one that filled him with anxious dread. “Will he find out about us, lord?”

“Eventually. I suppose that is part of what we must decide, Cas. If you’re willing, I wish you to move into my chambers. If there were not rumors here at Old Winchester about me already, and if it were not well known that I cherish solitude, this might cause little comment. A noble’s chambers are set up to have a servant sleep there, so needs may be attended at any hour.” Sam looked slightly disgusted. “I’ve always found it to be an abhorrent practice. Why should I wake someone from sleep if I need my horse saddled before dawn, or have some whim to eat at a late hour? 

“But having you with me… you have done so much for me, Cas, and it has helped me more than you can know. It is not that you do onerous tasks for me, though. It is the care you have always lavished on me… the feeling that you give when you serve, and that I wish to keep. But as for service itself… I know you can do more. I would like you to be my research assistant—a true scholar. And…” He hesitated and looked down at Cas, touching his face tenderly. “If you’re willing… I would have you as… my lover, openly and truly. I would hide no longer.”

Cas was caught between fear and relief. “Ylsa knows already,” he blurted. “In… in the kitchens tonight, she confronted me. She never said, but… she knew about you and—” 

He stopped short of saying the name, and Sam froze in his arms for a moment, but then rubbed Cas’s back. “Aury,” he finished for him. “You can say it, Cas. I… our love is not the only thing I wish to hide no longer, at least from myself. I will speak of it. I will try to understand all of it, and if you help me… perhaps there is hope. But I would warn you one last time, Cas. We don’t know what will happen. What if we are in the midst of passion and… and the curse takes effect, and I take your life, just like that? Please don’t dismiss the idea,” he said, putting Cas back from him to look into his face. “It is my greatest fear—that, and some accident I could not prevent or predict. It would be my fault, either way. And… you could still choose a life away from me, Cas, and live to happy old age with someone else, as a scholar or anything else that you wish.”

“Not happy,” Cas said softly. “Not without you, lord. I do not dismiss the danger. I have thought it through, as you asked. I have imagined a life without you, in another place, and it does not feel safer to me. It feels like darkness and the end, more wrong than I can say. I… I would like to learn more of what I can do,” he said softly, fighting tears. “I am more grateful than I can tell you, that you think there is more to me than humble service. But whatever I do, I wish to do it for you and with you. You... are all I have ever wanted, lord.”

Sam face collapsed with emotion. He squeezed his eyes shut as tears leaked from them. He bent to kiss Cas—carefully and softly, as if Cas were terribly fragile. “So be it,” he whispered. “You are all I have ever wanted, too, Cas. All that I wanted, and feared, and never, ever believed I could have.”

Cas did not have to ask why he feared it anymore. So many things that Sam had said since they met made sense now. He kissed Sam tenderly and at length, and they held each other in silence, until Cas thought of his next question.

“What happened at King’s Bastion when you were called there, lord? How did Lord Dean buy us time?”

Sam actually laughed. His face lit up in a way that it only did when he spoke of his brother, but brighter than Cas had ever seen. “Ah! I can’t believe I haven’t told you. I would be surprised if the news takes much longer than I did to arrive here, though, even if I didn’t spread it myself. Rumor is the fastest horse, they say.”

“What is the news, lord?”

Sam grinned again. “Dean is married,” he said. “But not just that. He has an heir.”

Cas was flabbergasted. “How… how did he do that?” he managed. The question of an heir aside, a royal wedding would have had the kingdom hysterical with excitement, taken months to prepare, and would have been the greatest spectacle since King John’s coronation.

Sam laughed. “He eloped. There was a woman he found in the midst of the war—honestly, as rumor will have told you, there were many such. But Lisa was special. She never left his mind, he tells me, after their brief time together. But while he was busy saving the world, he thought she must have died—she had lived in a town that was scourged by the demons only weeks after he left her. A few months ago, he rode off in search of her. He told no one. He found that not only had she lived, but she had a son. Unquestionably his. Little Ben is the spitting image of Dean at that age.”

Cas felt his heart lift. “How did he get around the question of royal blood, lord?”

“Once he found his lost love, he wasn’t going to let a thing like blood stop him,” Sam said, still grinning brighter than Cas had ever seen. “He did more research than he ever did during the war, into Lisa’s background, back many generations. He knew there had to be some nobility there. Lisa doesn’t have usable magic, but she struck a faint spark when Dean tested her. That was how they met—Dean was in her town looking for peasants who might have usable traces of magic to help during the war.” 

Sam looked so happy that it filled Cas with happiness as he continued. “Anyway, Dean found a far-distant trace of Henriksen blood, took Lisa to the record-keeping monks at Mills Abbey, had the monks witness the noble lineage, officially declared her a marquess, and married her. And not a damned thing my father can do about it.”

Cas laughed, and Sam joined him. It struck Cas what a rare sound Sam’s laughter was, and he resolved to create more of it. “Of course, my father went mad when he found out, and sent his fastest courier to bring me home, holding the threat of making me heir in Dean’s place over Dean’s head. It would never work, of course. Dean doesn’t care about being king, and they both know I would refuse the heirship. By the time I got there, Father had calmed down and accepted the situation, more or less. 

“It helped—a lot—that the boy is showing strong, early signs of magical ability. Even Father couldn’t deny Ben’s resemblance to Dean, so he went along with making him legitimate. It was all just… so like Dean. He put up with the problem of Father pressuring him to marry and produce heirs for a while, and finally just took matters into his own hands. As is his style… just one solid blow, as hard as he could, and problem solved. As I mentioned, he got what he wanted. A woman he loves, instead of a noble he had forced upon him.”

Cas sighed happily, and Sam laughed, pulling him close. “Yes, it’s all very romantic, and a great relief to me, as you might expect. It will make telling Father I will never marry easier. As I told you… seeing Dean find a way to get what he wants made me believe I could, as well. It is not so desperate a thing that I produce heirs anymore. Dean said he might like to send Ben here in a couple of years, to learn magic from me.” He smiled wistfully. “It’s… nice having a nephew. He’s a good lad; earnest and promising, and Lisa is willing to have more. In fact, Dean confided to me that there’s every chance she’s already pregnant again.”

Cas felt intensely happy, but another emotion was creeping over him; he finally recognized it as guilt. “Sam… will your father resent me, for stealing you from the path of marriage and heirs?”

“Probably,” Sam admitted, kissing the top of Cas’s head. “And I will tell him that I would never marry anyway. Cas… after seeing Dean and Lady Lisa, so happy and right together, how could I steal that from a woman by marrying her when I could never love her? My own chance of happiness aside; it was never very great. I can’t, Cas. It’s… only you, for me. And if there were no you, there would be no one. Fleeting, rare encounters, when I could no longer fight the urge, with like-minded men in the stables and back rooms of inns of towns where I hunted, shadowed by my shame and theirs—that was all I had before you.”

Cas gripped Sam tightly; his possessive jealousy flared when Sam spoke of other men. Sam laughed and held him tightly back. “Does it make you jealous?” Sam whispered into his hair. “You don’t like the thought of me with another man?” His voice was oddly joyful.

“Yes, lord,” Cas admitted. “I… when you went to the capitol, I thought surely there were many comely lads there, of a better class than me, who would gladly come to your bed.”

“If there were, I didn’t see them,” Sam said, caressing Cas’s neck, turning his head to kiss him. “I could not ever see them, now. There has been no one else since I met you, Cas. I knew, even that first day, that try as I might to turn away, if you wanted me I would take you. When you seemed to admire me, as some lads have, I fought the urge to seduce you until I knew you felt a real attraction, not just misplaced hero worship. I wanted you so much, it was nearly impossible to wait. Even… even though I knew I shouldn’t. Even though I doomed us both.”

“If we are doomed, so be it, lord. But I do not believe we are. This curse…”

“Let us not speak of curses any more tonight, Cas. It will still be here in the morning. Tonight, I am not cursed. In this moment here with you, if never again, I am blessed, and whole, and happy.”

Cas realized that was what he felt in Sam this evening: happiness. It seemed to reach back to a time before he had been wounded in his soul, and was why at times he looked like lad again, instead of a scarred, burdened man. It was often clouded, chased by the shadows of all that had happened to him, but telling his story had been like draining an inflamed wound of pus and cleaning it out. It had hurt, but then it eased Sam’s deeper pain and perhaps, set him at last on the path to healing.

Cas smiled and moved closer to Sam, offering himself up for a kiss. “May it always be so, lord,” he said.


	17. Chapter 17

For almost the first time since they had known each other, Sam and Cas simply talked a while. It was a balm on Cas’s heart to see Sam so light-hearted. Sam exclaimed over his thinness again and urged Cas to eat the rest of the food on the tray after they had both eaten. Sam told him more about his trip to the capitol, Dean’s smug triumph over the precipitous marriage, and the dissatisfaction of the citizens over the lack of an excuse for a protracted festival in the form of a royal wedding.

“Father told Dean he’s going to have to have a festival anyway, and Dean tried to get me to stay, either to help stave it off or to suffer through it with him,” Sam said, smiling. “I’ve missed him, but… I worry I’ll bring woe to him, or to the capitol, which it can ill afford.” His smile faded a bit, and he quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, I had to get back to you. As I said, I was half-hopeful, half-horrified at the idea you’d have gone when I got back, or taken another lover. Once I started on the road back, I couldn’t bear to stop. Dean is just going to have to live with me breaking his record, or else he’ll really let Impala stretch her legs the next time he comes down here.”

“There will never be another lover for me, lord. Only you.”

Sam smiled again. “I’m glad to hear it, Cas.” His expression grew rather wistful. “I… can’t really imagine what about me made you decide that, but I’m grateful.”

“Why, lord! Really! You say such things, and I can’t imagine that you’re serious. It is everything about you. When I came here, I would have done anything to earn your affection and interest. I… what I did not want to tell you, when you asked why I came to Old Winchester…” Cas could feel that he should tell Sam the truth. After all, Sam had told him the deepest, most grievous secrets he held.

“What? Do tell me, love,” Sam whispered, drawing him close on the mattress and laying him down.

“I was in love with you already,” Cas whispered against Sam’s neck. “I have only ever wanted you. It was unbearable. You were so far away, but everything I heard of you made me want you more… I saw you at Dean’s heir appointment, and you looked so sad, and… I wished to comfort you, and serve you, and… and every night before I slept, lord, I imagined crawling in to your bed, and I didn’t know what we might do there, because I barely knew that men did these things together, but I… I wanted to…” 

He moaned softly. Sam was undressing them both, and slid their bare bodies together. He kissed Cas, but he seemed a bit troubled. “You were so young,” he said, caressing Cas. “You are barely a man now. Are… are you sure, Cas? It is not an easy thing, what I am, loving men. People will laugh and say cruel things. You will never have children, or marry, and… if you have never been with a woman, perhaps you cannot understand the charms of it.”

“But you have been, lord. Did it change anything?”

“No. I… that’s what Dean used to say to me, though, that I didn’t know what I was missing. He didn’t know about the men—or he didn’t say he did—but knew that I did not chase women. So he hired a whore, and pushed women in towns where we fought on me, insisting I learn how to… to properly receive the townspeople’s gratitude, he said. 

“Later, I think… I think he knew about Aury, but he never said so. After I was with Aury for a time, he stopped pushing women on me. I have been with several women because of his efforts, and they were mostly kind to me. It was not unpleasant. But the passion… what flares between us the moment you touch me, even when I watch you move, or you look at me… I never had that with a woman, and even as a young man—you know we think of little but sex at that age—it was hard to light the spark enough to perform the act with a woman. So I know that I will never change in that way. But you…”

“You recall that Gabriel did the same thing with me, lord. And I… I could not even rise for her. The spark was not just hard to light, lord, it was impossible. There is nothing to give up. If I could not have you… I do not believe that there would be anyone, but if one day there were, it would be a man.”

Sam had been moving him into position beneath him, and suddenly he gripped him tightly. “No,” he growled. “There will be no other men. You are mine.” He slicked Cas’s opening with massage oil, penetrating him with his fingers, making Cas writhe and moan. 

“I am the only one who can do this to you,” Sam whispered, tugging at Cas’s cock while penetrating him with his other hand. “I can make you come whenever I want to see it.” He worked Cas slowly and intently, playing him like an instrument, until Cas was sobbing with pleasure, but he did not let him come. He stopped fondling him when he came close, embraced him fiercely and kissed him hard and deep. He bit and sucked Cas’s neck, then his chest, biting down gently on his nipple. He turned Cas over and mounted him, moving slowly.

“You are mine. My lover, my only one, mine forever,” Sam chanted, riding him slowly. Again he stopped when he came close to climax, and gripped Cas’s balls tightly to prevent his. He penetrated Cas with his fingers again, sucking and biting his shoulders, neck and back as he crouched over him. Then he took Cas again, and again, slow and deep, making them both cry out, stopping before they came. He turned Cas over and pulled him into his lap, spreading his legs. He shoved into Cas, holding his hips, guiding his movements. “Mine!” he cried, thrusting hard. “Mine!” He shouted it with each thrust, arching up and gripping Cas’s cock tight between them. “Ah! Mine, I’ll make you come! I’ll make you come so hard!” He stared at Cas as he thrust and tugged on his cock until Cas did come, writhing and throwing his head back, spurting onto Sam’s belly while Sam watch eagerly. Sam then flipped Cas over and fucked him hard, chanting, “Only me! Only me! Ah, Cas! I love you! Be mine forever! Stay with me, let me fuck you, let me make you come a thousand times!” He began tugging on Cas’s cock again, delaying his own orgasm as Cas quickly became hard again.

“Only you, Sam! Always! I love you, yes! Fuck me, take what you want from me!”

Sam gasped and groaned, nearing orgasm, but slowed again, delaying it. “They would… want you…” he groaned, thrusting. “Beautiful, perfect, sexy boy. They would… try to take you, but I would never let them… I would kill the man who tried to take you from me! I will never let you go! I would—ah! I would come for you, no matter where you went, and…. ah, ah, fuck you forever, keep you, always only mine! I love you!”

“I love you, Sam! Forever! I will never let another touch me! Only you!”

“Cas! Only me! Only you! Ah, ah, mine, mine…” Sam sped up and fucked Cas frenziedly; jerking him off hard as he did, and when Cas came he followed with a groaning shout, collapsing onto Cas and clasping him painfully tightly, crushing Cas close, biting his lip as he kissed him. He kissed him hard many times, continuously squeezing him with all four limbs as if he could not get close enough, and Cas squeezed back with all his strength. “I love you, Sam. Only you, forever,” Cas said, and Sam answered, chanting. “Oh God, Cas, Cas. I love you so much. It will kill me. I must have you. We will run away if we must. No one can part us. No one will ever part us. I love you…”

Finally, after many minutes, their bodies rested easy. Cas thought back on the day and wondered if there would always be so much sex. He hardly wanted to do anything else, and Sam seemed to feel the same, and every time it was something different, something that needed to be communicated between them as much as any words.

“Cas,” Sam whispered after a while. “I really… do need to be your only one. I’m afraid I am terribly jealous and possessive.”

“It is only right, since you own me, lord.”

Sam kissed him hard and briefly. “No, I don’t. But I meant what I said. I would fight for you, if there was someone else. I wouldn’t let you go. I can’t.”

“There will never be anyone else, lord.”

“Nor for me, Cas. I will do my best to make you happy, and give you all that you need. We must decide, now, what that is, and what we will do.”

Cas held him tightly. “Yes... will you tell your people about us, lord?”

“That is what I am unsure of. Perhaps I will, or… just let the rumors do the job, and not deny them. Cas… the darkness. The curse. It’s still there. And I must hunt sometimes, but I do not want to be parted from you.”

“Could I come with you, lord? Could I learn enough to help you? I am no warrior, and I would not wish to slow you or be a burden.”

“We can surely teach you enough to prevent that. You said Ylsa knows about us. How did she find out?”

“She did not say exactly, lord, but I believe she put the pieces together over time, and the last was when I was suddenly well and happy again when you came home.”

Sam smiled sadly. “Yes, she would know. She is kind to you, isn’t she?”

“Very much so. She has become like a mother to me.”

“She would treat me so as well, if I allowed it,” Sam said. “But I never had a mother, so I don’t know how to act with one, and regardless, I don’t deserve it from her. You know why.”

Cas hardly knew how to answer. He still felt that Sam deserved love of every kind, but the thought of Ylsa and her grief for Aury troubled him. Before he could flounder trying to think of something to say, Sam continued.

“Aury and I thought we were so discreet, as teenagers, but looking back on it, we probably didn’t do enough to hide what we were doing. Of course she would know. And seeing it begin again… she must be afraid I’m corrupting you.”

Cas smiled. “I suppose she does, lord. But she has come to terms with the idea.” He told Sam all that Ylsa had said, about love and easing each other’s burdens. But instead of looking reassured or pleased, Sam looked troubled.

“She’s right, Cas. What I’ve told you is a lot to carry.”

“It is not one one-thousandth the weight laid on you, lord. I… I know you do not wish to speak more of it tonight, but I would make the burdens lighter if I can. May we talk of ideas tomorrow?”

“Yes. And what’s more, if you’re ready, let’s move you into my chambers. Do you mind? I don’t wish to take you from your own space if you’d prefer not… which reminds me, I still don’t know where that is.”

“It’s the alcove behind the kitchen, lord. “ Cas smiled. “Where you and Lord Dean used to hide, like this one, but you said the arms master found it. And Ylsa knew about it and gave it to me when I arrived here.”

Sam frowned slightly. “There is plenty of space at Old Winchester, surely,” he said. “You could have had better quarters than that. It’s so small.”

“I have little to store, lord. Ylsa would have given me more space if I’d asked, once I had proven I was a worthy worker and no drifter. But after you told me it was your childhood refuge, I had no wish to leave it.”

Sam was quiet a moment. “Do you… want for anything, Cas? You’ve served me so well, but as I started to tell you, it troubles me. You’re so good and smart and capable, I… Old Winchester isn’t the richest place, but surely I can give my beloved some comforts.”

“I want for nothing, lord! Truly. I do not think of such things often, but what I have thought of, or desired, I have. I love books, and you have given me access to the greatest library in our kingdom. And the room where you played as a child… surely the only place better in the world is by your side, in your bed, and you have brought me there, too.”

“I will bring you there permanently, then. If people talk… it won’t bother you?”

“No, lord. Not to speak of… unless you think there are those who would try to part us.”

“Well, I don’t think so, but I will not be gentle with anyone who tries,” said Sam with steel in his voice. “If there is mockery, I do not wish it to hurt you, and I will not tolerate cruelty, but it may not be as open as that. You must tell me if anyone does more than mock.

“People understand so little in this world. That… was part of what was hard for me when I came back from war. Hearing people, even here at Old Winchester where they are good folk, and where they were struck hardest by war… hearing them backbite and fuss over the petty things when they almost lost their lives, souls, and kingdom—it was hard. I fought my scorn for them, until I realized… well, if Dean and I, and our father, made a sacrifice, that’s what it was for. So that they could be as they are.”

“If they wish to gossip and complain about what they have… they have their lives with which to do that,” Cas said, moving close to Sam. “They have you to thank for that, lord. I hope they have done so. It is you who should have all that you want, all gratitude and comforts and everything else that you wish. That was why I came here, other than selfishly, to put myself in range of your attention. It was to see you served as well as possible, in hopes of delivering the people’s gratitude, if they failed to do so to my satisfaction.”

Sam smiled. “You are an exacting taskmaster in that way, Cas.”

“The harshest,” Cas agreed, nuzzling Sam’s neck.

Sam held him tightly. “I don’t know that I deserve the gratitude. But I do have all that I want now, Cas. Thanks to you.” Cas felt some of the happiness drain from him, and felt a thrill of the dread they must both face. “As for what tomorrow will bring, who can say? But what I have now…” He paused and looked into Cas’s face, stroking it tenderly. “Woe to the man who tries to take it from me. He will have the fight of a lifetime on his hands.”

Cas leaned hard into Sam’s arms and returned his tight embrace. If only the man most likely to try to take Sam’s happiness were not the king of all Lawrence, his fear would be less, but he set it aside to cradle his love in his arms, sharing tender caresses and whispered endearments until they both found sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

The next day, Cas moved his few belongings to Sam’s chambers. Sam had a clothes chest moved there for him, and seemed dismayed at its being only a third filled, but Cas repeated his assurance that he had all he needed. Sam went to Ylsa and told her that Cas could continue to help her until she found a new kitchen servant, but that he wished to take Cas on as research assistant full-time, and train him in hunting skills. 

Cas was chopping vegetables for stew in the corner of the kitchen as they spoke, and to his surprise, Ylsa burst into tears at the news. Cas was about to intervene, thinking that Ylsa was dismayed to lose his help, but then, to his utter shock and Sam’s, she threw her arms around Sam as she wept.

Sam did not seem to know what to do. No one but Cas ever touched him. He stared at Cas wide-eyed over Ylsa’s head as he stood frozen for a moment, before very hesitantly, carefully putting one arm, then the other, around the weeping Ylsa. He must have had the same thought as Cas, for he said, “I… uh, I know Cas is very helpful, so if you can’t spare him right away—”

“It’s not that, you ninny,” said Ylsa, sitting back and swatting Sam with the dish towel she held. Sam’s eyes went wide again at the blow. It was comical, seeing him tower a foot above Ylsa, putting up his hands to ward off further blows. Cas could hardly believe his own cheek when a laugh bubbled up in him; he barely caught it in time to turn it into a cough. Sam looked sharply at him, clearly not fooled.

“I just… I love you both, and I want you to be happy,” Ylsa continued, wiping her tears with the weapon she’d used on Sam. “I was so worried about you, ever since you came home. And now, seeing you better…” She paused, wiping her eyes again. “But I know this is going to be a hard path for you to walk. Not the hardest _you_ have walked, mind you,” she said, looking up into Sam’s face. “But I know your father, don’t forget. He’ll make trouble about this, once it gets out that you’re not going to give him any heirs.”

Sam swallowed. Cas fought laughter again, seeing him hunch and try to make himself smaller, surprised at how much truth Ylsa was speaking.

“Now, I’ll say no word about the two of you, but you can’t expect it to stay secret much longer. People are already talking, and when you move him in with you, they’ll feel like it’s as good as saying openly that Castiel is your lover.”

“So be it,” Sam said firmly. He took the dish towel from Ylsa, perhaps for his own safety, and offered her a handkerchief from his pocket instead. He led her to the table by the arm, courteously letting her sit before he joined her. He caught Cas’s eye and gave a jerk of his head to indicate Cas should join them.

“I would ask your advice in this matter, Ylsa,” Sam said gravely.

Ylsa sniffed. “Well. So you should.”

* * *

In the end, they decided that they would make no announcement, nor decry any rumors, and behave exactly as they wanted to in public. Cas had blushed furiously when Ylsa said, “It’s not as though you two are likely to be kissing and snuggling in the knight’s council chamber, anyway.”

She had added, looking into Sam’s face, “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, so why act as though you do? You’ve earned the right to be with whom you choose, and carve out a little happiness for yourself after all the pain you went through so the rest of us could live our lives.”

Sam was cool and collected when they spoke to Ylsa, but a wreck afterward. Cas knew why. Would Ylsa be so kind to Sam if she knew he’d killed her son?

Thinking on it further, he thought she actually might be, with a little time to process. He told Sam so.

Sam shook his head grimly. “Not everyone is as forgiving as you are, Cas,” he said. “I could decry myself as a coward for not telling her, and perhaps I am. But truly, it would only hurt her. And I’m not sure I could bear it if she did forgive me.”

Cas would have been puzzled by this before, but now he understood it perfectly.

* * *

Cas was not sure whether to be overjoyed or dismayed at Sam’s instant dedication to a strict training regimen for him. They researched the curse in the mornings, finding little of use, and the afternoons were spent in weapons-work and physical rigors.

“You must be able to defend yourself, if you are to come with me on hunts,” Sam said. “I do not wish to be parted from you, but nor can I bear for you to be hurt. I would protect you, of course, but I may not be able to every moment. You will learn.”

He added this last because Cas displayed little aptitude for sword work. He learned the stances and blocking readily enough, but he could not seem to strike with any strength. Sam maintained that he was doing fine, and said that they would bring other knights into the training as soon as any were available.

Cas was anxious about this. No one had said anything about his move to Sam’s chambers, but he felt as though the other servants were always looking at him now, avoiding his gaze just before he turned it to them. Conversations stopped when he came into a room, and his chat with some folk seemed stilted and awkward. He had not spoken to any of the knights yet. They were all in South Campbell for a tournament there—the kind that Sam shunned. 

“Perhaps they will… take issue with a peasant receiving knight’s training,” he said hesitantly, as he and Sam removed the training pads and guards in the armory.

“Why should they?” Sam asked. “Most of them began their lives as peasants, or such minor nobility as to make no difference. They’re nobility now because my father or I made knights of them, is all. Besides, anyone can become a hunter. Most of _them_ aren’t noble. Some of the other knights have friends among the hunters who help them in villages all over Winchester.”

_But are these hunters their lovers?_ Cas thought. He said nothing further. He did not wish to question Sam’s management of his knights, or the knights themselves, but he was intimidated by most of them. They had paid him very little attention, and might not like his being brought to their attention in such a way. If the knights rejected him, what would Sam do? Would it be worth it to him to keep a lover who caused discord among his knights?

He pushed his worries aside as Sam took out a well-worn bow and a quiver of arrows. “I used these as a teenager. I wasn’t done growing yet, so the draw length should be all right for you, at least until we can get a bow made for you.”

Cas took the bow and quiver reverently. “What if I… don’t take to it, lord?”

“Not everyone does, but you ought to be able to do enough to shoot prey if you’re ever in the wild and hungry,” Sam answered. He paused, and took Cas by the shoulders. “Cas. Listen, you don’t have to be good at everything. You’re already a better researcher than almost any knight I’ve worked with. You have a flexible mind, good reflexes, and plenty of courage. All I wish is to make you… less helpless. For instance,” he said, lacing an arm guard over Cas’s wrist, “I’m haunted by the things you _haven’t_ said about your journey here. You were robbed, weren’t you?”

Cas flushed. He thought he had dodged that subject successfully. “Yes, lord,” he mumbled. Perhaps Sam didn’t need to know that he’d been robbed not once, but several times, until he stopped trying to keep anything of value. He took food and occasionally clothing instead of money as wages, ate what he earned fairly quickly, and tried for warm but drab clothing in the hopes that it wasn’t worth stealing, though this latter did not always work. 

“Were you also beaten?” Sam asked. He did not look at Cas as he spoke, checking the fletching of the arrows in the quiver. His voice was casual, but Cas knew enough to feel the sharp edge underneath. He was shocked into silence, but Sam looked up at him after a moment, and when Cas still didn’t speak, Sam took his chin in his hand to make him meet his eyes, gazing steadily at him until Cas finally answered.

“Only twice, lord,” he mumbled, shame-faced. He’d only been beaten the first times, when he had money and had tried to keep it. He did not tell Sam this, nor that he had learned how to surrender anything he had quickly when confronted with robbers, and to run away while they gloated over his things. They rarely pursued him, except occasionally to laugh at his quick surrender.

Sam’s eyes narrowed and grew hard. “No one will ever lay a hand on you again,” he said in a low, furious voice. “I would hunt them down if they did. But when we’re finished, I daresay no one would risk trying. You’re a strong, capable lad, Cas. If we arm you with some skills and confidence, you’ll be a force to be reckoned with.”

He led Cas onto the deserted archery range. There were not many archers among Sam’s knights, though some of the other villagers hunted game with bows, and the best among them occasionally came there to practice. But it was largely regarded as Sam’s own range, and Cas felt proud to enter it with him.

To his surprise, though he felt terribly clumsy with a bow in his hand, Sam was extremely pleased. “Cas, you’re doing wonderfully!” he said. “Truly. You’ve got the eye, and you hit the target with that last one.”

Cas frowned. He had hit the bare edge of the target, and the arrow had promptly fallen out. It was not like Sam to make fun of him, but…

“Cas.” Sam clasped his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “Hitting the target in your first lesson isn’t far short of a miracle. Dean’s a really good marksman, and it took him three lessons to hit the target.”

Cas looked up at him. “How many did it take you, lord?” he asked, though he was sure he knew the answer.

Sam grinned down at him, a rare expression of pride stealing over his face. “I hit it the first time, too,” he said. “Something we have in common.”

He seemed caught by something in Cas’s face, and warmth spread through Cas from Sam’s hand clasping his shoulder. Cas smiled up at him, and inched just a bit closer.

“And how many lessons before you struck in the black, lord?” he asked softly.

Sam leaned closer. “Also my first lesson,” he murmured. “But everyone knows I’ve got… magic hands.” As he said it, he slid one of those hands over Cas’s side caressingly, pulled him abruptly closer, and kissed him.

Cas leaned into the kiss gratefully, feeling it dissolve his fears about Sam’s knights, the world slipping out of focus, until he heard a squeak and a gasp, then a shuffle of footsteps.

Sam broke the kiss and looked up sharply. Cas followed the line of his gaze and saw a group of five girls, young teens, he thought, scurrying away around the corner of the armory.

“Sophie!” Sam said sternly. Cas recognized her, the other servant who helped Ylsa sometimes in the kitchen. Sam did not shout, but his voice carried clearly, and the girls stopped in their tracks. Sam waited until Sophie turned around reluctantly and looked at him.

“Come here, please. All of you.”

They shuffled forward, pictures of extreme reluctance, looking at their feet.

Sam looked at them for a long moment, as the shuffling increased, followed by low mutters. Cas knew Sam was employing a technique his father had used many times that worked really well on Gabriel when he was younger—if he looked stern in silence for long enough, he rarely had to ask questions to get a full confession.

Finally Sophie, who looked near tears, said, “We didn’t do anything!” As she spoke, one of the other girls muffled a sob. Her friend put an arm around her.

Sam cocked his head, puzzled. “Then why did you run away?” he asked, in a much gentler tone.

The girl who was comforting her friend answered, made brave perhaps by her friend’s tears. “We heard rumors that… that Castiel… that you were… not right,” she said. She thrust her chin forward belligerently on the last words.

Sam said nothing for a long moment, then suddenly the girl who’d spoken began to cry, too, and the first to fall positively wailed, joined at last by the quietest girl who’d been the holdout. All five girls dissolved in tears.

Sam looked from them to Cas in open alarm. He seemed utterly out of his depth. After a moment he said, “You mean, rumors that we’re lovers.” The girl who’d spoken nodded under the onset of a fresh spate of tears, gulping as her friend clung to her and wailed.

“Well…” Sam said, flummoxed, “Well, now you know it’s true…” He paused as the first crying girl wailed louder than ever. “But… why?...” He gestured helplessly at them.

Cas thought he understood. He’d seen these girls watching the knights practice, particularly when Sam was there. He couldn’t help smiling a little. 

“Lord, I believe these young ladies… had hopes of a suit from you, or at least… enjoyed, um, the idea of your company,” he said delicately.

“Sophie likes Cas!” blurted the girl who hadn’t spoken yet. She had flame-red hair and so many freckles she looked almost tanned. Sophie turned bright red at this revelation, but made no move to deny it. “So much! And she thought—she thought you might like her, too,” she said, growing shy when Sam turned his eyes on her. “She said you were always so nice to her.”

It was Cas’s turn to be flummoxed, and Sam grinned briefly, but stopped as the girl kept talking. “But the rest of us… we… we love our lord! And Cassie… she can start a fire without tinder, and use two or three of the cantrips my gran taught her… she has magic! So she thought… maybe, when she’s a little older…”

“I see,” Sam said quietly. He no longer looked flummoxed or amused. “Cassie,” he said quietly, stepping close to take her hand. The girl who was comforting her squeaked again—Cas recognized the sound that had broken their kiss—and stepped back.

“You are a lovely maid,” Sam said gently, as Cassie froze, too surprised to keep crying. “And your magic skills do you credit. You will find a better man than me, if you wish for one, and perhaps bear children with magical blood. You need not saddle yourself with an older man. There are new, young lads with magic, knights in training—” 

“They’re all ugly!” said Sophie, and the other girls nodded agreement. “And Bernard is mean.”

Sam obviously couldn’t help smiling again. “I doubt you would see me so fair, were I not a lord,” he said. “As for mean—”

“It’s not that!” said Cassie, finally finding her voice. “I… I don’t care if you’re a lord. You’re brave and handsome and good and… and you saved us! And if the demons ever come back, we… we need magic to fight with…”

“I see you’re of my father’s mind,” said Sam dryly. “Don’t believe everything the king says, though he would take it ill that I say so. You may have heard that Lord Dean is married now, and has an heir, and there are… others. There’s magic blood enough. You need not fear demons or any other dark thing, Cassie. I will always protect Old Winchester, and our knights will. Perhaps even you will, one day, if you wish. You may use your magic gift that way.”

“A… a lady hunter?” she said, wiping her tears and looking puzzled.

“You’ve heard of Dames Charlie and Jodie, haven’t you?” Sam answered. “There are not many, but they do good work. It is but one path you might choose. As for Cas,” he continued, “I am sorry I must take him away from the lasses of this village. There are few things I insist upon as lord, but I am afraid he is one of them.”

“And I…” Cas spoke up, and flushed when all five girls looked at him. “I cannot… return the regard of any maid in such a way. I little deserve it, but Sophie—”

“You do so,” she interrupted irritably.

“I thank you,” he said, forcing the words through his flustered anxiety. Sam seemed to find it somewhat amusing, but Cas knew that these girls held much influence over their fellow villagers. Though they themselves probably did not know it, their words could do harm if carried to the wrong ears. “Sophie… you are wise and good, and a skilled hand in the kitchen, and… one of the prettiest lasses in the village, if I may say it,” he continued. The girls giggled and Sophie blushed, but she was frowning, looking down. “I… perhaps I should not tell you; I do not always like the way lads speak of lasses when they think you won’t hear it. But the stable lads and the young knights aspirant… they speak of you with interest. There are good lads among them who would gladly pay you court.”

“I don’t want any of them. They’re not… serious,” she said quietly. Cas could hardly hear her over the giggles of the others, who seemed cheerful again, almost as if they were forgetting what caused their tears already. They were very young, he thought.

“You needn’t have anything to do with them, if you don’t want to,” Sam spoke up. “You are young yet for any such worries. I know that what Cas and I are, being lovers, is unusual. But you would not have us be sad our whole lives without each other, would you? Or marry someone we cannot love? You, or any other woman, deserves better.”

Sophie straightened with pride at being called a woman. The other girls shifted about restlessly, obviously longing to escape, but she looked serious. “Yes, lord,” she said firmly. “And Ylsa says… she says you’re not so sad anymore, and that’s good. I… we don’t want you to be.”

“I wanted to make you happy,” whispered Cassie.

“We all would,” Sophie said, sounding more adult by the moment. The other girls looked at her in mild surprise as she said, “But Cas has done that job for us, and Ylsa says it’s good. She also wants me to help her all the time in the kitchen now, and that I’m old enough for real responsibility. C’mon,” she said, taking Cassie firmly by the hand. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, lord.”

She led the girls away. They looked defeated at first, but Cas caught a thoughtful expression on one or two faces besides Sophie’s.

“Well,” said Sam, “we got caught. I suppose it was only a matter of time.” He had retrieved the quiver of arrows and was unstringing the bow.

“I think it may… be a good thing,” Cas began, but they were interrupted again as a horse galloped up to the armory at thunderous speed. Sam’s eyes went wide. He handed the quiver and bow to Cas and ran to meet the rider. Cas followed.

“Lord Sam!” the man cried as the horse skidded to a stop. “I… we need the knights, my lord! Our village…” He paused, gulping a breath. “I am from a village far north,” he said. He was fighting for calm, but horror was clear on his face.

“We do not know what it is, lord,” he managed as Sam took his horse’s head. “But many of us have lost livestock, and two shepherds have not returned with their flocks. A… a few stray sheep came back without them, and some of these were… singed, my lord. There have been fires. We fear… the old sages say it’s a…”

Sam seemed carved of stone. Cas, who thought he knew Sam’s every mood, had never seen this black look upon his face.

“Dragon,” he whispered.


	19. Chapter 19

Sam sprang into action immediately. The man from the northern village was dismayed to learn that the knights were all far away in South Campbell.

“I’ll go myself,” said Sam. “At first light, if not sooner. I must send a message to Singer Citadel. There won’t be many knights there either, but it’s closer than Campbell, and Bobby doesn’t go in for tournaments either. He might be there, and can send back-up.”

“I’ll ride to the Citadel, sir,” said the villager. “Unless you need my help to… to face the…”

Sam clasped his shoulder. Cas could imagine this man was the closest thing to a warrior the little village had, and he was feeling his duty. “Don’t fear,” said Sam. “I have faced the fiercest creatures the demons could send our way. What’s one more dragon?” His hearty tone rang false, but the man seemed reassured nonetheless. Sam directed Renard, who had come out of the stables to take the man’s tired horse, to give him a fresh one.

“Is Upstart back yet?” Sam asked Renard. 

“Yes, lord. The courier station sent her back yesterday morning and took that gelding back in her place. She’s had a good rest and is in fine fettle, sir.”

“Good. Feed her well today and make sure she’s ready to ride hard before dawn.”

“Lord…” said Cas anxiously, trailing along behind Sam. Sam was not quite running, but Cas had to jog to keep up as he headed back to the castle. Sam did not seem to hear him, and rushed through the kitchen doors.

Ylsa was flying about the kitchen. “I’m already packing food for you, lord,” she said. “Do I pack for… for two?”

She did not sound like herself, and Cas saw that she was weeping—not the quick spate of dramatic tears he’d seen when Sam told her he was taking Cas from the kitchen, but hard, desperate tears she was ignoring that reddened her eyes and hoarsened her voice.

Sam and Cas both froze at her question. Cas was looking up at Sam, who had not looked at him since the villager arrived.

“Please, lord,” Cas managed softly. “Please, I must come with you…”

Sam did turn to him then, and his eyes were full of agony. “Cas,” he said, and Cas flinched from his forcibly gentle tone. “Cas, it’s too dangerous. If you… if you were killed…” He glanced at Ylsa, who quickly retreated to the pantry and banged around to give them privacy. Sam took Cas’s hand.

“I need you to stay safe, here,” he said. “I don’t wish to be parted from you, but… but this may be my death coming for me, Cas. And I cannot bear for… the curse to come true,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Better my life than yours. I died in the last days of the war. I have borrowed time since then, and… perhaps the account has come due. But not you. That is a cost I cannot pay, Cas, and nor should you have to—” 

“No!” Cas cried, startling himself and Sam with the volume that filled the kitchen. “It is my own account! My life, to spend as I will, lord, and… and I know you must go. I know your duty. But who would I be if… if you must die, I let you do it alone? Please…” Cas seized Sam’s hand in both of his. He made to kneel, but Sam stopped him, grabbing his elbow with his free hand. “Please, lord. I can help you. I can make camp and cook and care for the horses, and fight—”

“Cas… you have not learned many warrior’s skills yet…”

“I can defend! I can stand at your back when there is no one else, lord! As… as did the villagers in the last days of the war, when there were no warriors left! I _beg_ you, lord… don’t leave me…”

“He’s right,” said Ylsa unexpectedly, emerging from the pantry. She had stopped weeping, and she looked more serious—far more—than Cas had ever seen her. Her voice, normally so expressive, was flat and empty now, yet utterly certain. “You cannot go alone, lord. If a cook like me can help defend a village, a strong young lad like Cas can be a great help to you. I say this…” She paused, and Cas saw her expression crack, and her eyes brimmed over. “I say this though it feels like sending my son out to die all over again. To lose you both…” 

She stopped and wiped her eyes, moving to stand close to them. “Well. You just bring him, and yourself, back safe.”

Sam was frozen, staring from Cas to Ylsa. He looked half-defeated and half-relieved. “But… to leave Old Winchester with no protection, and to put Cas in reach of a _dragon_ —”

“Did you know I killed a demon-creature on the very steps of my home village?” Ylsa said, turning back to the potato bin.

“What?” said Sam, arrested.

“It’s like Cas says. We can defend ourselves when needs must. But yes, I did. I never told you, because why would I? But during the last action, all the warriors were gone to the battle front. Some of the ugly things the demons brought were slipping through our forces to prey on the villages. One had been terrorizing the place, picking people off if they went out after dark. You know my husband, Mick, died before the war even started? Well, when he was younger, he’d been a soldier. I took his old sword out of the chest of his things, cleaned the rust off of it, and went after the thing with my own hands. It was a lucky blow, because when did I ever pick up a sword before? But I’ll do it again if I must. You needn’t worry about Old Winchester while you’re gone.” 

Sam was staring at Ylsa as if seeing her for the first time. When he didn’t say anything for a moment, she said, “We’ll call that settled. I’ll ask Marda whether she’s got any really warm clothes Cas’s size. He’s too thin; he’ll feel the cold.” She strode out of the kitchen without another word.

Cas was watching his master unhappily. A misery was stealing over his heart. He’d follow Sam no matter what, but it hurt to think he’d be doing it unwanted. He cleared his throat, trying to find words, and Sam, who looked a little dazed, looked down at him.

To Cas’s relief, Sam took him in his arms then, holding him close. “I would never be hard to convince, Cas. I’m selfish enough to take you into danger because I want you with me. But Ylsa’s right. About everything, actually, but I mean about the cold. I’m sure you were cold at times during your journey, but you’ve never experienced cold like where we’re going. I have some small magics that will help, but cold tends to leech that power out of me over time.”

Cas leaned hard into Sam, waves of intense relief warring with new fears. He clung tightly for a moment, then said, “I will work on packing food while Ylsa looks for warm clothes for me.”

Sam nodded, smiling down at him. He pecked Cas’s lips and said, “I’ll see Renard about Upstart’s colt for you, and I suppose we must have a pack horse. Then…” His expression turned grim again. “I’ll be in the armory.”

* * *

Sam was restless in Cas’s arms that night, and Cas woke with a frantic start well before dawn. “Don’t leave without me!” he shouted before he was even fully awake.

Sam made a small, mirthless sound in response. As Cas blinked his vision clear, he saw Sam sitting at his writing table. “You would think we were going on a pleasure jaunt,” said Sam. “But have no fear, love. Where I go, I will take you with me.”

Cas felt and listened about himself. It was not much past the middle of the night. He came to sit at Sam’s table with him. “What do you write, lord?” 

“The message for Bobby. I pray he’s there to get it. What I really wish is that I could reach Dean—he’s a dragon-slayer, after all. But the fastest messenger could not reach him timely.” 

He paused, rubbing his temples wearily. “I could not sleep. And likely will not much, until the thing is dead.”

“Is there any chance at all it is not what you fear, lord?”

“None that I can fathom. I… felt this coming, Cas. I knew there was something of the demons I had yet to face, and I felt it in my bones when that villager rode up yesterday. I knew what it was even before he spoke.”

Cas stood and began getting dressed. “There is no need to wait on me, lord,” he said. “I know that if you did not have me to think of, you would probably go in the middle of the night. You could have woken me.”

“It eased my heart to watch you sleep. There is much weariness for us both on the road ahead, Cas.”

“I will make us breakfast to set us properly on our way, lord.”

It was a strange feeling, somewhat over an hour later, to be leaving Old Winchester behind in the dark. Sam had procured a large, sturdy mule instead of a horse for their pack animal; the weapons he’d brought were heavy, and they had a great store of food and warm clothes. Cas had sat a horse only a couple of times in his life before, but as promised, Upstart’s colt Blue, so named for his lovely blue-gray coat, was a gentle, patient creature. Sam gave him tips on his seat and handling the reins, but horses always liked Cas, and he took to riding better than he had to anything else Sam had taught him. Sam warned him that he would be very sore, but there was much to eclipse such minor worries.

Sam made a little magic light, which he called a fairy lantern, that drifted in front of them, a luminous globe, guiding the horse’s footsteps. It faded as dawn ascended. Cas looked around him at the desolate land.

They had looked into what little dragon-lore there was in the library the night before. Sam rode mostly in grim silence, occasionally bursting out with a bit of instruction on self-defense, or asking Cas if he was cold. He wasn’t. The pre-dawn air was frosty, but he was well-clothed, and the horse was warm beneath him.

The day passed, cold and short. In winter this far north, the sun never got very high in the sky, and it seemed like morning until sunset made it evening. They stopped once when the sun was at its zenith, fed and watered the horses, and took some food themselves while Sam instructed Cas to stretch carefully. Despite that, it was painful to get back on Blue, but Cas would never complain. His relief that Sam had kept him with him had not dissipated.

Sam produced the fairy-lantern again after sunset, but the cold soon grew intense. Cas no longer felt warmed by the horse, and soon the wind learned to disregard his thick, warm clothing. He hesitated when Sam again asked him if he was cold, and Sam nodded before he could speak. “We’ll make camp at the next likely spot.”

They had left behind barren plains and were now in the wooded hills that preceded the mountains. It was colder, but there was more potential shelter. Sam found a hollow between two hills, screened by trees, and they dismounted.

“Stretch out while I care for the horses,” Sam ordered, and Cas obeyed hastily. He was not sure how Sam felt toward him at the moment. He had been largely silent all day, and Cas found he could not break it with conversation, but he longed to know Sam’s mind. He was also anxious to prove himself useful, so he stretched quickly and hurried to make camp, taking out their bedrolls, raking away rocks and sticks from the spot where he laid them (optimistically close together), and gathering wood and kindling for a fire. He was fussing over their food supplies, determined to make Sam a meal he would appreciate, when Sam said, “Cas. Stop working. You must be exhausted.”

He was, to the point of stumbling, but he said, “You… we must have a good supper, lord…” He was pulling out his flint and tinder, but Sam took it from him and tucked it back in his pouch.

“We don’t need that.” He held his hand under the kindling, hummed a few words, and the kindling caught, flames licking the edges of the wood. He stood and took Cas by the shoulders. He frowned, seeing that Cas shivered. “Supper can wait,” he said. “Get undressed and get in your bedroll. I’m going to make it warm.”

Cas stripped down to his long underwear reluctantly. He eyed the thin bedroll doubtfully, but got into it, as instructed. 

Meanwhile, Sam walked the perimeter of their camp. Cas watched, fascinated, as he set a stone from a handful he held every few feet. He murmured something as he set down the last one, and where his nose stuck out of his bedroll, Cas felt the air begin to warm slightly.

Sam came to the fireside and began undressing. “I’ve put an aura around us, to hold in the heat of the fire. It will fade as I sleep and be gone by dawn, but it acts as walls of a sort. You may feel a little tingle if you pass through it, and know that if you do, it will wake me. It also acts as a warning if anything approaches.”

To Cas’s surprise, Sam stripped to his skin. He glanced at the bedrolls and smiled for the first time in hours. “We don’t need those _separate,_ do we?” he said. “Let me show you something soldiers who like each other well enough do in cold weather.”

Cas got out and, catching on, helped Sam quickly and neatly bundle the two bedrolls into one.

“Here. No wonder you’re still cold. Undress all the way, love,” Sam said, and helped Cas out of his long underwear and into the combined bedroll. He slid in beside him and, to Cas’s relief both emotional and physical, immediately took him in his arms. Cas sighed deeply as the shared warmth washed over him.

“There,” said Sam, kissing him tenderly. “Better?”

“Yes, lord,” Cas mumbled. 

“Can’t I be Sam, at least here in our shared bed?” Sam whispered, and kissed him more intensely, his skin sliding against Cas’s as he fit their bodies comfortably together. Despite his exhaustion, Cas felt a flare of arousal. 

“Sam,” he whispered, and kissed him back, happily caressing the lean muscles of Sam’s shoulders and back. His aching body received Sam’s touch with intense gratitude… but with a start he realized he had lost time. His eyelids were heavy, and he found he hadn’t lifted his arms to embrace Sam the way he’d planned… he was about to stutter an apology when Sam laughed softly. He stopped his sensuous nuzzling of Cas’s shoulder and kissed his eyelids.

“Go to sleep, love,” he said. “You’re most of the way there already.”

Cas wanted to protest, about supper and his duty, and more than that, he wanted Sam to keep kissing him, but instead of words to express this, he found deep, warm darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

Cas woke to quiet kitchen sounds—the scrape of a spoon on a pot, the clatter of a lid—and he thought he was in his alcove for a moment, late to his morning work. The journey came back to him as he blinked in the darkness, which gradually lessened to fire-lit dimness. He saw Sam’s silhouette by the fire several feet away, stirring a pot that hung over the flames. Spurred to duty, he sat up quickly.

“Lord, I should be doing that—I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to really sleep…”

“It’s no wonder you did, Cas.” Sam sighed, glancing over his shoulder at Cas. “It’s I who should apologize. I took you from your bed in the middle of the night and made you ride—you, who have never done so before—until after dark, in bitter cold you’re too thin to fight.”

A darkness seemed to have seeped into Sam while Cas slept. Cas struggled free of the bedroll, casting about for his clothes.

“Your clothes are at the bottom of the bedroll,” said Sam. “Another trick I need to teach you; it helps to keep your clothes warm so they keep _you_ warmer when you get back into them. There’s so much you need to know. Cas… perhaps this was a bad idea. It’s not too late for you to go back to the castle…”

Cas was squirming into his clothes as quick as he could. He wanted to shout a protest, but knew it would make him sound like a child, just as Sam feared he was. So he answered as calmly as he could, “Lord, I will not leave you. How faithless would I be, to run home because I’m sleepy and cold? I have been so before, lord, and I never thought to turn back, in those months I journeyed to Old Winchester. My road is with you.”

Sam said nothing for a long moment, his face grim. He set down the spoon he was stirring with as Cas joined him at the fire. “I want you with me,” he said at last. “I am selfish enough to have brought you, and not to send you home. But at least I can feed you and let you rest. Here,” he said, ladling stew into a bowl and handing it to Cas. “Eat up. It’s not like what Ylsa would make, or you of course, but we need to flesh you out a bit.”

Indeed, the stew made from dried meat and vegetables was not like Ylsa’s cooking, but it was filling enough, and the fact that Sam had made it for him made it delicious. He found, once he started eating, that he was ravenous. Sam dug in the food packs and brought out bars of rolled honey, oats, and nuts and insisted Cas eat these as well. 

“Sweet things especially will help you fight the cold,” he said. “Eat as much as you can hold.” 

Cas did so, willingly enough, but eyed Sam’s half-full bowl of stew beadily. “What about you?” he said. “You eat little, and did you sleep at all?”

“I closed my eyes for a bit. Cas, I… I am often not good at… taking the care I should, when I am hunting. That’s why I’m such a mother hen with you. We rode too long today; if I’m not careful, I can forget things like sleep and food altogether, and it doesn’t matter for me, but for you…”

“It _does_ matter for you, lord,” said Cas, setting down his bowl. The way Sam behaved when he returned from hunts had begun to make sense when Cas learned what haunted him, but now the last piece had fallen into place. He scooted close to Sam and took his hand. Sam seemed startled, but his eyes warmed as he turned to receive Cas’s kiss.

“I will be able to do more to help you tomorrow, I am sure,” Cas said. “I will help you to take food and rest as you should. You will be in no shape to face the demon dragon if you do not take care of yourself. You said it could be weeks before we find it.”

“Yes,” Sam murmured, leaning into Cas’s embrace. “I… I had little to lose before, Cas. I must remind myself that I have much to lose now.” He kissed Cas, caressing his face. “Having you with me helps me with that, but it also frightens me… a fear I thought I had left behind forever.”

“I will be well, lord, as long as I’m with you.”

They kissed at length, but before things got too heated, Cas urged Sam to finish his stew, which he did. “I can eat when I have you to remind me to do it,” Sam said. “Sleep is harder… my mind cannot rest, remembering…”

Cas took the empty bowl from Sam’s hand and pressed himself close to him, running his hands under Sam’s shirt. He felt Sam’s instant, urgent response as he whispered, “Perhaps I can help with that as well…”

Rested now, Cas felt his own need, thwarted earlier when he fell asleep, rise up twice as strong as they hastily undressed and got in their bedroll. Eagerly, he ducked inside and took Sam in his mouth, and Sam’s groan was as much relief as pleasure, but he soon stopped Cas and pulled him back up into his arms, kissing and fondling him urgently before turning him over to take him. Their first need slaked, hot and hard, they fell to gentler kisses and caresses, and when they loved each other a second time, Cas made sure that Sam’s ecstasy took him down into sleep before he settled down himself, refusing to close his eyes until Sam’s breathing became deep and slow. Wrapped in Sam’s arms, all fear of the future, all pains of his body and worries of his heart faded, and he slept.

* * *

Sam still woke before Cas, at first light, but Cas was relieved to hear that he had slept, he said, deeply and well. He was in better spirits that day, and Cas resolved to keep him that way. He learned that a good method was, when Sam slipped into grim silence, to ask him a question about hunting, fighting, or survival. Sam was eager to provide this information.

“Anything could happen, Cas,” he said. “Even if we’re victorious over the dragon, cold and hunger are enemies just as vicious. You should learn to hunt.” He spoke at length about what animals could be found to hunt so late in the year, and other ways they might find food in the wilderness.

It took three more days for Cas to gain the endurance to stay awake long enough to help in camp in the evenings. His soreness was fading by then, too. As soon as he was able, he took over the cooking, and Sam was grateful for the good food he was able to make from their stores. 

Cas was somewhat surprised when Sam also resumed Cas’s weapons training, working out with him as much as he had strength for of an evening, but more surprised to find that he had suddenly improved. Now that there were stakes—when it seemed possible he might actually be put in a position where he’d need to protect his master, mighty as Sam was—Cas found his sword arm, and especially his bow-aim, were much improved.

“You’re on your way to being a real archer, lad,” said Sam approvingly, as Cas’s arrow struck near the center of their improvised tree-trunk target for the third time that lesson.

The days stretched as they fell into a pattern of riding and talking all day, and training and loving in the evenings. Cas ruthlessly used sex to get Sam to sleep—not that this was any sacrifice, as he told Sam when Sam said he knew what he was doing.

“Well, love, it works,” Sam said, “and I have no objections, to either part of it. Not only do I feel better than I ever have on a hunt, but… I wish to be with you, as much as I can, Cas. If I ever forget to say it… I love you, and you have brought me a happiness I never thought I could feel. I thank you for that, and for all you do for me.”

“It is my pleasure… Sam,” Cas said. He had thought to say, as he often had, that it was his pleasure to serve, which of course it was. But service had become lost in love. He did not feel like a servant anymore. What they were riding to no longer mattered. He helped Sam, and Sam helped him, and they loved each other as equals. It was so much more than Cas had ever dreamed he could have. He himself had become, without his even realizing it, so much more than he’d ever thought to be.

They traveled thus for many days. Cas had expected to see villages, or some sign of life, but he had seen no dwellings that looked recently occupied at all since the third day. 

“I told you… these lands were razed by the war,” Sam said sadly, as they rode through a deserted town. It was the largest they had come through on their journey, and clearly had once been a thriving community. There were houses made of good sound brick, and a blacksmith’s stall, now open to the wind, its anvil standing abandoned in a drift of old leaves. 

“It is rare that I ride this far north, but when I do, I always hope some folk will have returned,” Sam continued, as they left the town behind. “But they haven’t.” He glanced gloomily at an old, falling apart mill by the stream, its waterwheel frozen still, festooned with icicles around the rotting wood. “The village the messenger came from is the farthest north I know of. We should be there in a few days. There is an iron mine there, and forests rich in game that somehow escaped the worst predations of war. I suppose that’s why folk returned there, but even North Devereaux is a ghost of what it once was. There weren’t more than ninety souls living there, last I rode through. It was once a town of two thousand, as great as Old Winchester before the war.”

“Perhaps folk will return, when you have slain the dragon and made it safe again, lord,” Cas suggested, but Sam was not listening to him. He urged Upstart into a sudden trot as they mounted a steep hill outside of town. He reined the mare in and paused at the summit, looking down into a rocky, desolate valley. The wind whistled in the silence, and Sam looked like a statue upon the horse, shading his eyes and gazing into the distance. He was frozen thus a long while, until Cas forced himself to break the heavy silence.

“What do you see, lord?” Cas asked.

Sam turned to him, his face cold and distant. His eyes, when they met Cas’s, were stormy, full of a darkness that made Cas’s heart shrink. He did not answer for a long moment, then:

“Smoke,” he said.


	21. Chapter 21

They rode in silence for an hour or more after Sam saw the smoke in the valley. Cas half-expected him to start riding hard, but Sam kept a normal pace, wrapped in a cloud of dark purpose.

Finally, he spoke. “We’ll have to leave the road soon,” he said. “A direct route to the dragon’s lair won’t take us through Devereaux. The beast is in the mountains to the east, I’m sure. We can cut off many miles through the hills, but it will be a rough journey, and no chance to resupply in town.”

Cas could think of no reply, so he made none. He hated that he was afraid of Sam when he was like this, but he could not help it. It seemed impossible to break the silence, but then, after a few minutes, Sam spoke again.

“You could… stay on the road, when I leave it,” he said, his tone oddly, forcibly gentle. “You could ride into Devereaux and await me there. I would come for you… after.” _If I live_ hung in the air unspoken.

“I told you,” Cas said, and was surprised, with the terrible shrinking of his heart, how firm and cool his voice sounded. “My road is with you. Even if there is no road,” he added weakly.

Sam looked over at him. His face was grim, but his eyes looked tormented when they met Cas’s briefly. He pursed his lips as if he were trying to smile, then nodded.

In this state, Sam seemed to find words difficult. A long time passed before he spoke again, then he said, “We will strike off the road into the hills before sunset. We must turn east soon.”

“Very good, lord.” Cas did not want to remain silent, so he retreated into formality. Sam didn’t seem to notice.

“It will still take us some days to reach the caves where I think the lair is,” Sam continued. “There are dark things in these hills, Cas. The dragon surely won’t be our first fight.”

“That is good, lord, since a dragon hardly seems the thing to cut my teeth on,” said Cas with forced cheerfulness.

Sam nodded again, but looked so miserable that Cas made himself speak. “Lord… I know that we face peril,” he said gently. “But we face it together. I am with you, no matter what, and I am well—indeed I am grateful and happy—as long as you’re with me. Is there nothing I can do to help you feel the same?”

Sam did not reply at first. After a few minutes, he said, “Let us stop here for a bit.”

It was past noon and Cas had thought they would not stop for lunch that day. They had reached a clearing at the side of the road, with access to the stream that ran along it. It was swift enough that it was not entirely frozen. Cas pulled up near it to water the horses, but when he dismounted, Sam, who had already done so, immediately took Cas in his arms and kissed him passionately.

Cas returned the kiss, and Sam kissed him again, hard, then made to release him. He did not quite break the embrace, then, as if Cas had clung to him or pulled him back, he kissed him again, and again, and finally, clutching him close, Sam murmured, “I just… need so much.” 

He sounded lost, and terribly vulnerable. Cas squeezed him tightly, pressing himself as close as he could get. “I wish to give you everything you need, always,” he said.

“You won’t leave me,” Sam said in a strange tone. Was it question, protest, or gratitude? Or even command? Perhaps it was all of these.

“No, I won’t.” Cas answered all possibilities, and drew Sam’s head down to kiss him again. Sam returned the kiss with an edge of desperation.

After a moment, as they broke for breath, Sam looked to the northeast reluctantly, where he had seen the smoke. “We should ride,” he whispered brokenly.

Cas stood on tiptoe to reach Sam’s mouth and kissed it briefly. “Yes. But we will take food first, and water the horses.”

Sam nodded, looking anxious and lost. He led the horses and mule to water while Cas prepared a quick, cold meal. He sat on the horse blanket Cas spread out with the food on his knee, looking into the distance, until Cas urged him to eat. He did so, perfunctorily, and then mounted his horse as soon as they had both finished.

They rode until the sun was low, and Sam picked a spot to take them off the road. Cas had never seen him like this. He turned sharply to stare at every crackle in the undergrowth. He started when Cas spoke to him. Once there were sounds even Cas recognized as an animal moving casually through the undergrowth, and Sam produced his bow and had an arrow on the string so quickly Cas could not see where it had come from. Two winter-lean deer came into sight and quickly out of it, but Sam did not put his bow away, holding it nocked for many minutes as they rode on.

He stopped them when it was full dark, saying only “Here,” before dismounting and helping Cas to make the most perfunctory of camps. Anxiously, Cas laid the fire for Sam to light and went to make supper, but Sam waylaid him with a kiss so urgent and wildly passionate that he was dizzied. He managed to aim them for their bedroll, and it was moments before Sam had both their clothes off, and there was no supper or weapons practice or even much conversation that evening. Sam loved Cas repeatedly, with an edge of frantic desperation, until the deep of night, clinging to him so hard that his arms trembled. When at last Sam lay sated, Cas soothed him into relaxing his arms, kissing him tenderly and repeatedly, saying “It’s all right, Sam. We’re together. I am with you, forever,” over and over again, until Sam fell at last into a fitful sleep.

It was still full dark when Cas dragged himself awake to the sounds of Sam packing the saddlebags. “I am sorry, Cas,” he said without turning around; Cas did not know how he knew he had woken. “I cannot rest longer. I can feel that this day will not pass without death.”

Dread flooded Cas’s heart as he hurriedly dressed and Sam continued, bitterly, “Do not fear—it will likely be me dealing it, as usual.” He paused and turned to Cas, who had stood to pack their bedroll, and took his face in his hands. “I will protect you,” Sam said, and bent to kiss Cas fiercely.

Cas gripped him tightly. “I know you will, lord,” he managed. When Sam was in this dark mood, all business, it was hard to call him by his name, and Cas fell into old habits of meek obedience. “I will do my best to defend—”

“You must live,” Sam interrupted him sharply. “Cas. I hope you have listened well to all I have said. You must…” He stopped, drooping with sudden weariness.

“I have heeded you, master,” Cas whispered, reaching to stroke Sam’s face. “I am no helpless, pampered child. I promise you. I will do what is needed, for myself and for you.”

Sam crushed him close and merely held him for a long moment. “Thank you, Cas,” he said. He let Cas go and turned to mount his horse. Cas hastily followed suit as Sam produced the fairy lantern, and they rode under the fading stars.

When it started to grow light, Sam seemed to have calmed somewhat. He began to describe the creatures they might encounter, quizzing Cas about the weapons and methods of dispatching them he had learned while assisting Sam with research.

“Good. You know what to do with trolls and haunts. I doubt there is a werewolf this far out, but you have a silver knife, yes? I have arrows that work very well, but I don’t think we will be so lucky. No… I have not told you much about what is most likely, but out here in the wild, I think it is demon-twisted beasts that are the greatest worry.”

Cas had heard of these. “I thought you and your knights had cleansed the land of those after the war, lord.”

“We tried, but we could not cover all the wild lands. We rarely came so far north—since the war, I alone have been in the hills where we’re bound, as far as I know. And unfortunately, the demons left behind some beasts that they twisted from natural predators, and these are capable of breeding with ordinary beasts. You have heard of dire wolves? That’s where they came from.”

Weirdly, this frightening talk seemed almost to cheer Sam. He went on at length about what they should do if they saw signs of a pack, how he and the knights had dealt with such in the past, and the merits of different weapons. 

At last, at about noon, Sam paused and actually sniffed the air. Just then, Upstart whinnied nervously, Blue fidgeted beneath Cas, and the mule brayed as they heard heavy crashing in the undergrowth ahead.

“On your feet, lad!” Sam shouted as he sprang from his saddle. “Take the horses!” Cas hastily dismounted and took Upstart’s reins as Sam drew his sword, and the crashing was followed by a roar, and a challenging shout from Sam, and then the beast appeared.

It was a bear, or perhaps it _had_ been a bear. Larger than any Cas had ever heard of, and uglier, its red-eyed, grey and black face disfigured by fangs so great they were almost tusks. It roared so loudly it hurt Cas’s ears as Sam leapt at it, dealing it a mighty blow. The creature turned, partly dodging the blow, which nonetheless opened a bloody rent in its side. It slashed at Sam, who neatly dodged backward and came in for another blow, but the creature had unexpectedly changed direction—to charge straight at Cas.

Cas had managed to draw his sword, and he was determined not to flinch from danger. For days and weeks, he had been schooling himself internally on how to react to the panic he was sure to feel, going over and over Sam’s battle instructions, and finding the will to fight inside himself. He thought of what would have happened if Sam had not dodged those deadly, inches-long claws aimed at him, fiercely clenched himself in proper stance, and slashed upwards with all his strength as the beast drew near. His sword found the monster’s throat, a heavy, well-aimed blow, and Cas felt a flash of pride as the roar turned to a gurgle and the beast began to fall—until he realized it was about to fall _on_ him. He tried to leap back, but his feet caught on a tree root; he heard Sam shout as he fell heavily, desperately scrambling backwards, and he felt a blow from the beast’s paw clip his arm as he rolled to lessen the impact.

Cas’s ears rung in the sudden silence, which was absolute until Sam’s heavy breathing broke it. “Cas! Cas, are you all right?”

Cas blinked and took stock of himself. The beast lay across his lower legs, clearly dead. Sam must have hit it again from behind; its head was nearly severed. After a shocked moment, Cas felt pain invade him, though nothing horrible. He realized, embarrassingly, that what hurt most was his backside where he’d landed on it.

“I’m… well, lord,” he managed, panting. “Are you?”

“I wasn’t hurt,” Sam answered. He was shoving the beast’s corpse off of Cas, and he hastily knelt beside Cas. “You’re sure? Let me look at you, lad. I thought I saw it swipe at you; did it hit?”

“Its claws did not pierce me, lord.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Sam snapped. He was inspecting Cas carefully, gently helping him sit up straight. “Was it this arm?” He lifted Cas’s left arm carefully, and Cas bit back a groan: it did hurt, after all.

“Yes, lord,” he managed. “I think it is only bruised.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sam said. He examined Cas’s arm carefully, turning it this way and that and feeling it gently. The examination hurt, but not terribly.

“A sprain,” Sam said. “I believe I can take care of that. Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Cas refused to mention his backside; he shook his head. To his surprise, Sam grinned broadly at him. “Good job, lad! You did marvelously. Your first kill!”

“Surely it’s another of yours, lord.”

“No. The beast was already done for; my last blow was just to be sure. This one is yours, Cas. I must say, when it changed tack and went for you, my heart almost stopped. But you proved you’ve been listening to me; that’s for sure. No trouble striking hard when your life’s at stake, is it?”

Cas felt it would be far too much braggadocio to say it had been Sam’s life he was thinking of, so he merely smiled and said, “No, indeed.”

“Can you ride? I need to tend to your arm, but the scent of blood may attract other predators. We should distance ourselves from this place first.”

“I can ride, lord. But the horses…”

The horses, trained to stand for battle, had not gone far, but the mule was still letting out the occasional bawl of fear, and Upstart and Blue were snorting and whinnying in response. “Upstart is letting the others make her nervous,” Sam said. “Partly because her colt is here. I will calm her—you rest a moment.”

But Cas did not want to sit on his aching backside any longer. He got wincingly to his feet. Sam was talking, low, to the horses. Upstart calmed quickly, as Sam had predicted, but Blue danced out of Sam’s reach when he tried to take his reins, and the mule had started braying ceaselessly.

“Let me try,” Cas said, and he eased up next to the mule and took its head. It stopped mid-bray and snorted. Cas spoke soothingly, stroking its neck. He led it carefully toward dancing, flinching Blue. Blue and the mule were friends, and the nervous horse paused to touch noses with his companion, allowing Cas to catch the reins. Blue calmed immediately under his hands as Sam came up and took the mule.  


“Don’t use your hurt arm,” Sam reminded him. Cas nodded and led Blue to the track they’d been following. He glanced back to find Sam gazing at him quizzically.

“I didn’t know you had such a way with beasts,” he said.

Cas smiled. “I have always liked them,” he said.

“Well, it’s a useful skill. Let me help you onto Blue. There’s no shame in it,” he added when Cas flushed. “If you strain your arm further, it’s more for me to mend later.” He gave Cas a leg up and frowned when Cas winced at the pain in his backside, but made no comment. They rode off as quickly as Cas could bear, while Cas wondered what Sam meant about mending.

He found out a few painful, jarring hours later. As they set up camp, Sam coaxed Cas into admitting that falling on his backside had hurt more than his strained arm. Oddly, despite his concern, Sam was smiling, lighter-hearted than usual. He was rummaging in his pack.

“I rarely get to perform this magic,” he said. “A person can’t do it on himself, so I haven’t used it hunting, and it wasn’t very useful during the war. I had to save my power for battle-magic.”

“What magic will you do, lord?”

“A healing spell. I should be able to do enough so that you can use your arm, and ride more comfortably tomorrow.” He added this last with a grin, patting Cas’s rear as he set the supplies he’d gathered by the fire Cas had laid.

“Do you know, I may be the only person left alive who can do this with any efficacy?” He urged Cas to sit as he set out a shallow tin bowl. “It has died out even among nobles. Dean can do a little—less than me, even, and he has little patience for it, though I hope perhaps his children will inherit the Campbell tendency.” He sprinkled herbs into the bowl from a tooled leather pouch that had the leaf-symbol of healing stamped on it.

Cas gasped when Sam then abruptly took the small knife and cut his own forearm, as swiftly and matter-of-factly as he might strike a match, and blood welled forth. He dribbled a small measure into the bowl, over the herbs.

“More wouldn’t make it stronger, and would weaken me,” he said casually. “It’s odd. When I spill my blood for magic, it is like my blood can feel what I am doing, and I can spare much less of it than when I am wounded. Roll up your sleeve.”

Cas did so, mutely. Though Sam was for more cheerful than usual—more so than since they had left Old Winchester—this mood cowed Cas somehow. He watched as Sam murmured just three soft syllables—quiet, and in no language Cas had ever heard, yet they were strangely sharp and clear, etching themselves into his mind. He blinked as though at a bright light, but the fading-sunset light of their camp remained the same—it was more like a memory of light, but a tingling warmth washed over Cas as he regarded the healing-leaf Sam had drawn on his arm.

“The shape doesn’t matter,” Sam said, as he urged Cas to sit forward so he could ease Cas’s trousers down and daub a bit of the remaining blood on his sore backside. “In fact, I’m not sure even the herbs do. Just the blood and the words. Feel better?”

What Cas felt was strangely dazed. He blinked and blinked, still feeling like he was remembering light. His tongue stumbled as he tried to answer. Sam looked concerned.

“Cas? Are you well, love?” His smile had faded. “Maybe… maybe the magic doesn’t agree with you.” But even as he spoke, the dazed feeling fled suddenly, and Cas sat up straight, drawing a deep breath. He flexed his wounded arm.

“It is well, lord! It doesn’t hurt at all! I feel—I feel wonderful,” he confessed breathlessly.

“Good! Well…” Sam was looking at Cas curiously. “That’s not how Dean reacted to the spell, or anyone else I ever did it on,” he said. “They usually just feel a tingle, and then it feels better. Or not much better, sometimes. It doesn’t always work,” he said ruefully.

Cas was stretching, feeling a loose, happy comfort in his limbs that he hadn’t felt in all this journey. “Thank you, lord,” he said. “All my pain is gone.” He turned to Sam and kissed him. Sam seemed somehow startled, returning Cas's kiss a little belatedly, then Cas, catching sight of the small wound Sam had made on his forearm, said, “Let me wash and bind that, lord.”

“Turnabout, eh?” Sam said, grinning. “It’s nothing, Cas. If you’re feeling so energetic,” he said playfully, leaning close, “I can think of better things to use that energy on.”

And he drew Cas into their bedroll, where Cas found himself energetic indeed, to the great pleasure of both.


	22. Chapter 22

Cas’s energy and feeling of well-being lasted most of the next day. Sam started out cheerful as well, discussing Cas’s battle with the demon-bear and giving him advice on how to do even better next time, mainly promising to teach him how to fall, or more importantly, how to keep to his feet if possible.

But as the day wore on, the smell of smoke reached them. Sam’s mood darkened and he grew quiet before Cas smelled it, but soon, neither Cas nor the horses could ignore it. The horses snorted nervously, and though Blue followed his mother readily enough, soon the mule began balking.

Cas spoke soothing words to the mule, and they rode in silence for a time. Heavy, swirling clouds slid in over the mountains. A light mist of snow fell, and Cas noticed a growing silence, beyond that of winter wilderness: a terrible, unnatural depth of soundlessness that turned the snap of a twig under the horses’ hooves into a crack of thunder.

Sam abruptly stopped. Cas, who had been riding behind him, was startled when Sam turned to him; his lord’s face was dead white, and his eyes looked almost black in the shadow of his brow.

“We will leave the mule here,” Sam said shortly. “Take off all the packs and tack. Put some lightweight food in Blue’s saddlebags, but don’t take long about it. Put the rest of the food bags in the crook of this tree.”

Cas’s heart quailed. He regarded the mule, which had become his friend. It was a good, faithful creature. It seemed cruel to abandon it in the wilderness, but as he dismounted and began to obey Sam’s orders, he realized that cruelty was the furthest thing from Sam’s mind. He was giving the mule a better chance of surviving than they had.

Sam joined him in removing the mule’s packs. He took the weapons-bag and drew two heavy crossbows from them. He slung one on his back and handed the other to Cas. He paused a moment as he did so, and Cas could not help it; he flinched under Sam’s regard. He thought that if death were made into a person, it would look like Sam.

Cas looked down and waited for Sam to speak. He could hear Sam’s breath, his own, his own heartbeat. The silence was terrible, but Sam’s voice, when he spoke, was gentle.

“It will be today, Cas,” he said. Cas, still looking down, flinched when Sam touched his face. He looked up into Sam’s eyes and saw all the sadness in the world there. “The dragon will die today, or I will. Perhaps both.” 

Cas made an inarticulate sound and threw his arms around Sam. He heard the breath huff out of Sam as he returned Cas’s embrace slowly, with exaggerated care. He stood and held Cas a long moment without speaking. Then he said, softly, “It is still not too late for you to turn back.”

“It is,” Cas said defiantly. “Far, far too late.” He pulled Sam’s head down to his and kissed him fiercely.

Sam, soft, bemused, returned the kiss, gazed into Cas’s eyes a moment, and nodded. “Come,” he said, and mounted his horse.

Cas left an open feedbag to distract the mule from their departure and mounted Blue hastily, fearful of being left behind.

“We must stop speaking aloud soon,” said Sam. “Fog is rolling in, and will provide us some cover. I will look for a blind from which to shoot. It will not be far.”

Indeed, they rode for a bare hour before Sam found a spot to his liking. The smell of smoke grew stronger, and the only sounds for many miles were ones they made. They left the horses in a glade, loose so they could escape any danger that found them. Sam belted on his sword, took the weapons bag, and climbed up a slope with an overhang, screened by trees, where they could look out into the valley. Cas followed, and they settled into their hiding place as the fog thickened, hiding them well.

Cas could not see much as he peered out between the branches, but Sam stared into the fog unceasingly, so still that Cas listened closely for his breath. He held as still as he could, too, but could not stop his trembling.

Time passed—Cas could not be sure how much; minutes or hours. Sam broke the long silence at last with a whisper.

“The dragon comes.”

Cas nodded, swallowing. He breathed, “Surely it cannot see us in the fog, and under cover as we are.”

Sam did not answer for so long that Cas thought he didn’t mean to. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered at last. “He knows I am here. He’s coming for me.” And he stood abruptly; Cas flinched at the loud sounds Sam didn’t trouble to conceal as he broke cover, raising his loaded crossbow.

Cas suddenly felt that his entire world changed. He could not breathe, and thought he couldn’t move, but somehow he found himself standing and following Sam, standing out under the unimaginable terror of the sky.

For Sam was right. The dragon had found them. At first it was nothing more than an unimaginably immense shape in the fog. Cas was struck still as Sam ran down the slope. As the shape grew closer, the sun suddenly came out and the fog swirled away with the beat of its wings, and Cas saw something he never expected: a beauty as great as the terror he felt.

He had not thought much about what the dragon would look like. He thought about the lives it had taken and the ones ruined, those left behind and living in the shadow of great horror. He thought of the war his people had waged, at terrible cost, upon these creatures and those who’d commanded them, and he thought much of what Sam had endured and lost in that war. He had felt terror and rage and hate, but had never given it a form in his mind.

If he had, it would have been nothing like this graceful, enormous yet almost delicate, lethally beautiful creature. He would not have imagined the stunning grace of silver wings, the sinuous beauty of the scaled body that owned the sky, curving toward them like a song upon waking, like death if he had been a little bit in love with it, and suddenly, utterly seduced into its embrace.

The magnificent tableau was broken by a hideous shriek, the loudest sound Cas had ever heard, assaulting his ears. Sam, far down the slope now, had fired his crossbow, twice. Both bolts struck their target; Cas saw that Sam had aimed for the creature’s eyes. One bolt lodged in a fold of skin over the dragon’s brow, and seemed to do no harm. The other bounced off the scaled ridge of its eyelid. It screamed in fury as Sam fired off another shot and took off running, further down the slope—leading the dragon, Cas realized, away from him.

“No!” he shouted—or tried, but little sound came out. He would not be left behind! He had not come so far to be of no use. Hastily, he loaded his own crossbow—and his heart stopped as a stream of fire poured from the dragon’s mouth, setting the trees alight, and Cas could not see Sam among them.

Rage filled him as the dragon beat its wings harder; Cas felt their wind as it gained height. How could they defeat a creature they could not even reach? Their arrows seemed of little use, and the creature could roast them from a distance…

The answer came to him in a flash, and he stumbled to the top of the ridge before he could think hard enough to stop himself from acting. As quickly as he could, he fired his crossbow twice, aiming for the delicate webbing of the dragon’s wings. He noted with dismay that he had somehow gotten a quiver of Sam’s spell bolts instead of the ordinary ones he’d brought for himself: they would be wasted since he had no magic, but if his aim was true, at least they could do the job of regular arrows.

They did, and far better than he’d hoped. His first shot went wide, but his second ripped a great hole in the dragon’s wing! Its shriek, this time, held pain as well as rage, and as it looked around for the source of it, Cas reloaded and shot again. This time both his bolts struck true in the dragon’s other wing, and with both wings wounded it dropped like a stone from the sky. The slope Cas stood on shook as it struck earth. He heard Sam’s shout of triumph and relief washed over him—Sam must have escaped at least the worst of the burning.

Cas stumbled hastily down the slope. The wind shifted and a cloud of smoke struck him, thick and suffocating. He coughed, blinded, and panic overtook him. He wanted to call Sam’s name, but dared not distract him. He ran through the smoke, fell twice, scrambled up and ran blindly again. Soon he heard Sam’s shouts and the dragon’s shrieks.

He stumbled to a stop as he mounted a little hillock that raised him above the worst of the smoke. He saw them—the dragon reared back, striking at Sam with its wicked-taloned forefeet, darting its head in to bite. Sam had it on the run. The dragon mostly blocked Cas’s view of Sam, but he heard the sounds of his sword striking scales, saw the flash of metal briefly as the dragon reared back.

Cas dropped his crossbow and fumbled to draw his own sword, but he dropped that too with a horrified wail as he saw, projected onto the backdrop of fog, the worst of all his nightmares made real.

The dragon reared back for a great strike and Cas could see Sam under its folded-back, bloodied wing. For a moment he thought Sam had triumphed—Sam drove his sword upward as the dragon whipped its head down in a furious, biting strike—and Sam’s sword impaled the dragon through its mouth.

But, occupied with the dragon’s head, Sam had no attention to spare to the blows of its forefeet, and even as the dragon convulsed and its blood fountained forth, it struck Sam brutally and pinned him to the ground with its two-foot talons. Cas ran forward as the dragon thrashed, the only sound the cracking of the brush and a gurgling hiss; it could not shriek around the sword in its throat. Heedless, Cas ran right into its heaving tail and was thrown backward, landing in a drift of leaves.

“Sam!” he shouted, struggling and slipping upright. “Oh God… Sam…”

All was still when he reached Sam’s side. The dragon had rolled away from him, leaving behind a great pool of blood that Cas slipped in as he knelt beside his master.

At first he thought it must be all right. Sam lay in an almost peaceful pose, on his back with one arm thrown over his head, as he might sleep in his canopied bed next to Cas on a happy, lazy morning. Cas tried to believe it, but even as he latched onto this beautiful illusion, words spilled from his mouth. “Oh no, oh no, no, please, Sam…”

He gave a gasp of relief as Sam’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled. “Victory,” he whispered.

Not all the blood soaking the ground was the dragon’s. Cas’s heart folded in on itself at the sight of the alarmingly scarlet stain covering Sam’s belly, spilling from the horrifying gap that should not be there, onto the ground beneath him.

Cas found himself speaking softly, carefully, as if not to disturb his resting lord. “You…. you are sorely wounded, lord.” He took off his cloak, with some idea of binding Sam’s wounds with it. “I… I must tend you…” 

His voice broke and he stopped as Sam reached for his hand, stopping it in the motion of trying to tear strips of cloth from his cloak. 

“Cas,” Sam whispered. “My love. You know.”

He did. Even if he could not see it, he could feel it. He had never seen death, but its presence, waiting patiently, was all around them now. Cas could feel that it would come for him just the same one day, but he rejected it violently now, would have found a weapon and charged it if he could, but instead he was frozen with anguished horror as Sam coughed, bringing bright blood to his lips.

“Come here, love,” Sam whispered. Cas came close, resting his forehead against Sam’s, as tears fountained out of him silently, bathing Sam’s cheeks.

“Do not weep, lad,” Sam whispered. “At least, you must not weep for long. Do you see, Cas? I’m free. I am finally free.”

Cas gazed tearfully at him, finding no words though his heart overflowed, with all the love and grief and terror and anguish and need, for Sam, for him to live, and desire to tell him everything, everything that ever happened to him or that ever would in a long, full life, every joy and sorrow, every puzzle and task and the smallest happenings for which he would have Sam at his side, his master and his love. Every word he might speak in many decades to the love of his life tried to come out at once and utterly silenced him.

“But… but I love you,” he said in a small, childish voice, as if that were the answer to it all, and so it was.

Sam smiled again. He looked strangely beautiful, with old clumps of dead leaves in his hair and blood spattering his terribly pale face, darkness smudged under his bright, soft eyes, and young, younger than Cas had ever known him, a lad of sixteen with his gaze full of first love.

“I love you, too. I am sorry to leave you, Cas. So terribly sorry.” He reached for Cas’s face weakly and missed; Cas clutched his hand before it could fall back down and held it tightly to his cheek.

“Before I go,” Sam managed, his voice losing strength with every word, “I… want to make a wish.” Sam kissed Cas’s wrist where it was pressed near his lips. “The reward I ask, if any is to be had, for this victory. I wish you to live. Wholly and joyfully. I wish that… the joy I lost in the war, all the joy of a life that I might have had… all which went out of me, I wish that it may come into you and light your way, until we meet again.”

“Oh, Sam,” Cas wailed. “Please… I love you, I need you, so much. I can’t be parted from you… let me help, let me bind your wound! Tell me what to do…” He wept bitterly as he pressed his forehead to Sam’s, for he knew, even as he spoke them, how useless his words were; he could feel the last of Sam’s life slipping past him, up into the sky. 

“You have done it all. You have already saved me, Cas. Now,” Sam took a great, shuddering breath. “Be brave, love, and kiss me goodbye.”

Cas gulped down his tears, held Sam’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Sam kissed him back with an ocean of utterly pure tenderness, stripped of all that had ever stopped or fettered or complicated the love between them, until Cas could not kiss him anymore for weeping.

He choked back his tears and gazed into Sam’s face, stroking his hair. Sam was smiling, the picture of perfect joy. His eyes blinked open, bright, reflecting the clearing sky, and his gaze seemed caught by something Cas could not see.

“Cas,” he said, with wonder. “You look… so beautiful…”

And he sighed, and closed his eyes, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter might upset some people who have been reading along with me, but hang in there...


	23. Chapter 23

“No,” Cas whispered. “No… Sam…”

It could not be real. His love, his life, could not be gone. Just moments ago they woke together in their bedroll, and Sam teased him into lingering there instead of rising to make breakfast. Sam had promised never to leave him, and Cas had followed him loyally into danger, and they had defeated their enemy, and Sam must surely wake in a moment…

“I’ll take care of you,” Cas said firmly. He pressed his cloak into the wound, pretending that he did not quail horribly at the blood that instantly soaked through it. He lifted Sam carefully at the waist to tuck it beneath him. Sam was not yet cold. Did his chest stir just slightly with a hint of breath? He was not gone, not gone… “I’ll… I’ll get this bound and get you on your horse, lord, and we will ride to Devereaux, where there is an herbalist surely…”

His hands shook so hard they were useless; he stared down at them hatefully, shocked to find them stained with scarlet. The weight of impossibility, of reality, settled on him and he could not breathe; grief broke him open and he cried out under the sky, his shouts shattering the winter stillness as he begged God and Sam and every power he had ever heard of to take it back, to change just one moment so that Sam might live, and he called Sam’s name and kissed his cool lips, begging as hard as he had ever begged in his life, when suddenly, it seemed as though he was standing separate, out of his own body, calmly looking at the scene.

A voice, clear as a struck crystal goblet in his ear, spoke calmly. _You do not know who your father is._

He did not understand the words or the voice, which sounded like his own, but as he came back into his skin, gazing down at Sam, he heard Sam’s voice replace his.

_The shape doesn’t matter. In fact, I’m not sure even the herbs do. Just the blood and the words…_

He did not know his father. He did not know his blood. As the thought stilled him, he caught sight of his own arm, his sleeve torn from one of his falls on the slope. There was a scrape that bled sluggishly.

So much royal blood had spilled under Sam—enough to heal a hundred wounds, and almost all of Cas’s useless peasant blood was still inside him. But if there was a chance… a chance that his father had some trace of magic, and Cas could call on it now in his greatest need…

 _It doesn’t always work,_ he remembered Sam saying. But a few drops of Sam’s blood had made him well when he was injured—so well he could still feel the warmth and energy, and if there was that one spark, just enough to slow down Sam’s bleeding, heal him enough that he could hold on for the ride to Devereaux…

He pulled Sam’s dagger from his belt and pressed it to the scrape on his arm to make it bleed more. He hadn’t meant to slash so deeply; blood welled forth. He did not flinch, but gathered it in the palm of his other hand.

A moment of panic. Would he remember the words that meant nothing in any language he’d heard? But all doubt slipped from his mind as he dribbled the blood over Sam’s wound; the three syllables rang loud in his mind and then aloud in strong voice. He gathered more blood and dribbled it again, repeating the words, and they sounded like a song, and the world was far away and nothing mattered anymore. Even through the music in his brain, the blackest despair imaginable invaded and penetrated and savaged him. He was a fool; a useless, peasant fool, to think his worthless blood could avail anything, and Sam was gone where he could not follow, yet… yet there was a light…

Under the winter sky, beside his dying love and the great silver hulk of dragon, among the frosted dead leaves and blood and clinging, spreading death, Cas felt himself drift loose; he did not know to where, but at the last moment, among light and sudden silence, he was glad to go.

* * *

Cas reached for wakefulness, but it was far away, a soft glow almost out of sight as he lay in the quiet dark. He was in his attic room, the sound of Gabriel’s soft breathing beside him. He sighed. Gabriel had his own room, and it seemed a very long time since he had snuck up to Cas’s attic to sleep beside him—or mostly to _not_ sleep, and to keep Cas awake with his scheming and chatter, but Cas didn’t mind.

He blinked, and felt cold scrape his eyelids—he could not recall the attic ever being so cold. It was hard to move, much harder than the earliest winter morning when Cas didn’t want to get up for school, and perhaps he had not changed his straw tick in too long, for it felt lumpy and hard beneath him…

Stars. Bright, hard, and distant in the vault above him. He was looking at the sky, not his attic ceiling, and the years since he had slept in his parents’ house settled over him, a ragged fabric of more holes than cloth. He did not know where he was or how he had gotten there, and prodding his sluggish mind, prompting it to remember did no good. He felt small, light, and empty. He blinked and blinked at the stars until they were blocked by a hand passing gently across his face.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice was sleepy but strong.

Sam! Sam, alive, well enough to speak! A wave of joy and desperate relief shocked Cas to greater wakefulness, and to memories, though only in terrifying flashes—the dragon! The spell...

“There, love,” said Sam softly. He had drawn the bedroll closer around Cas, and his face came into focus now. “You remember this time? Everything’s all right—well, _I_ am; I’m a bit worried about you. But I’ll take care of you. Don’t try to move. You’re still very weak.”

Cas wanted to answer that he couldn’t remember—not anything after he decided to try to use his common, peasant blood to heal Sam, though it was hopeless and foolish… but why was he now ill and Sam well? He hadn’t been hurt in the dragon’s death throes; he’d only been a bit bruised, and the scrape he’d opened further to spill his blood… he could feel it on his forearm, a faint throb, but such a small wound could not explain why he ached all over, why his mind seemed to drift near his body without really settling into it, and he could not stir even if he would have disobeyed Sam’s command. He was desperate to ask what had happened, if Sam was really well, but his lips would not move, and the breath he drew was not enough to speak.

Sam answered his question anyway. “You saved my life. A little too thoroughly, I think. Cas, love—you might save the kingdom, too, just because you were born.”

It made no sense. It was Sam who had saved the kingdom, and whose existence continued to do so; perhaps that was what Sam had meant… he couldn’t puzzle it out, and he felt like he was slowly sinking; warm darkness was rising all around him. He didn’t want to go, to leave Sam. It was so good to be with him; he had just begun to be able to feel him lying next to him in their bedroll, warming his body with his. He wanted to put his arms around him, but it was like wishing to fly; his body could not obey. He fought to keep his eroding awareness, thought that perhaps he could voice his desire: a kiss before he went away, for what if he never found his way back? But he could not move his lips… even when Sam’s were on his suddenly, gently caressing.

Sam’s mouth lingered sweetly, and the pain in Cas’s body seemed to diminish as it did, and he wanted to ask how Sam knew, and though he could not speak, Sam answered.

“It’s what you ask for every time.” He kissed Cas’s heavy eyelids as Cas slipped away.

* * *

Cas woke this way, he gathered from what Sam said, many times. Each time he held on to a bit more memory, though there was much that still confused him utterly. After he asked repeatedly, and sat up very shakily, with Sam’s help, to see for himself, he accepted that Sam was really healed, but he could not understand why, not even enough to ask Sam about it.

Or rather… he _did_ understand, in some corner of his mind, but he could not shine light into that shadowy corner yet. His clever brain was working at the problem even as he himself feared the solution—he was not sure why, only that he felt everything changing, that much had already changed, unwilling as he was.

Every time he circled close to the answer, he felt heavy and drowsy again, and he could not stay awake long regardless. Gradually he absorbed that they were in the blind from which Sam had spotted the dragon. It was lucky that there was such good shelter so close, for Sam, strong as he was, could not have carried him far. Though the fact that he had carried him at all reassured Cas again that he was truly healed.

He wept at the sight of Sam, alive and apparently well, every time he woke at first. The tears exhausted him, and Sam tenderly tried to coax him out of them with kisses and murmured reassurances, but they overwhelmed him anyway. Love, relief, and renewed faith in a universal power that cared what was good and right poured out of him as he clung weakly to Sam, who clung back with all his wonderful strength and shared his gratitude and sometimes, joyfully, his tears.

“Shhh, love. It’s all right. I am well, truly well, and you soon will be, too. We are here together, Cas,” he whispered, one silvery midnight when Cas’s tears of gratitude had woken Sam. “Nothing will ever part us again, my beautiful, heroic, ever-surprising love. Death could not claim us, and what enemy could measure up to that which we have already defeated? What _you_ have defeated, my brave prince.”

Sam’s words did not make sense to Cas, though they soothed him, as did the soft kisses and the warmth of Sam’s body curled protectively around him, so he forgot the words and reveled in the love as he drifted back to sleep under the broad white moon.

One day, when he had been awake for all of twenty minutes together for the first time, he had tried to sit up and really talk to Sam, not asking about the healing yet, but wanting to know about their circumstances generally. Sam, who mostly stayed in his bedroll with him holding him close, as if afraid he would slip away, allowed this reluctantly, helping Cas to sit up and feeding him a stew of stringy meat that he confessed was squirrel.

“I can’t leave you long enough to try to find the horses or our packs, or hunt larger game,” said Sam. “But you took the bedroll for some reason; I found it in the back of the blind. So I can keep you warm, and we had a bit of food in the other packs. Not to mention, the squirrels in these parts are innocent of flung stones, so we’ll be all right long enough to get you on your feet,” he said cheerfully.

Cas, though he could see it for himself, could not stop asking whether Sam was really well. Not only was he well, but he _glowed_ with health, and looked happier than Cas had ever seen him, except when he frowned with concern at times when Cas’s hand shook too hard to bring a spoonful of stew to his mouth. 

Cas was shamed that Sam was now serving _him,_ though he understood it could not be helped. He did not fuss when Sam took the spoon from his shaking hand, fed him the rest of his stew, and returned him to his bedroll. The minutes of sitting upright and asking questions had proven too much for him, and he fell back into dream and emerged for only short periods again, his memories clouded and confusing, with words like _prince_ and _just because you were born_ swirling out of the clouds to confound him.

One day he woke with a start as Sam, who had been lying next to him, came out of the bedroll to his feet in one swift motion; Cas blinked fuzzily at him as Sam drew his knife. He was looking at Sam’s face when it relaxed into an expression of joyous wonder that had a quality he had never seen there, and Cas himself started at an unfamiliar voice behind him.

“You didn’t think I’d stand for you breaking _both_ of my best records inside a month, did you?” it drawled. “Hello, fellow dragon-slayer.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Warm in here,” continued the voice, casually. “I never did get that trick of yours down. Froze my balls off trying to find you.”

Cas struggled to sit up so he could see the owner of the voice, though there was only one person it could be. He managed, dizzily, to push himself upright. Sam was embracing the impossibly handsome man Cas had seen just once, when he was made crown prince, the same day Cas had fallen in love with Sam.

“Lord Dean,” Cas stuttered when the brothers parted and Dean’s eye caught on him. “I… I apologize that I cannot make my bow…”

Dean frowned at him. “Who bows?” He glanced at Sam, gesturing at Cas with his thumb. “Does he bow?”

“Less than he used to,” Sam said dryly. He was grinning, but stopped suddenly as Cas swayed where he sat, and he hurried to kneel at Cas’s side. “It’s all right… Cas. Lie back down…” Sam’s manner was awkward, and it came to Cas why, as Sam helped him lie down in the bedroll they’d been sharing moments ago… and no one had yet seemed to note the fact that Sam was standing stark naked, gripping the dagger he’d grabbed when Dean had startled him awake. Cas was naked, too, but at least the bedroll still covered him.

Dean seemed to absorb Sam’s nudity just then; he glanced at Sam and blinked. There was an awkward silence as Sam grabbed a pair of trousers and put them on, while Dean glanced between him and Cas, frowning.

“Who is this?” he asked Sam finally. Cas felt a surge of embarrassment that he had not introduced himself properly, but he really was terribly dizzy, and was fighting to stay awake.

“Dean, this is Castiel, my—he helped me fight the dragon. And saved my life afterwards. He was—not wounded but… uh, he’s not well. It’s a little complicated…”

“I’ll bet,” said Dean dryly.

“How did you find us, so far from anywhere?” said Sam, hastily changing the subject.

“Found the dragon first,” Dean said. “After that messenger showed up at the Citadel and said you’d gone after the dragon, all alone, like an idiot—”

“Not alone,” Sam said sharply. “And what else was I supposed to do? And what were you doing at Bobby’s?”

“Is this an interrogation?” 

Cas blinked to bring Dean’s face into focus as his energy faded further. Dean was grinning, but there was unease in his eyes whenever they caught on Cas, who could not quite grasp why he felt so anxious about Lord Dean’s arrival.

After a few moments, he could grasp nothing more at all, and despite unease and an unfamiliar, royal presence, he slid back into sleep.

* * *

Sam gazed at his brother. He was troubled, thinking of the difficult conversation ahead, yet he still felt a joy he’d rarely known. The two people he loved most in the world were alive, and with him, and would come to know each other.

He had not explained it to Cas yet, for indeed he could not explain it to himself, but Cas’s spell had healed more than his body, he was certain. Either it had blasted the curse out of him, or the dragon’s death had somehow ended it, but he felt in his heart that the key lay in Cas—his unexpected power, and his love.

Here now was the other person who had faced a dragon for his sake. Dean was warming himself at the fire, squinting at Cas in the strengthening light. It was very early morning, which was why Dean had caught Sam sleeping.

Finally Dean seemed to decide not to press the issue of who Cas was—or perhaps he had decided he knew—and answered Sam’s questions. “I took Ben and Lisa to the Citadel to meet Bobby,” he said at length. “I left a bare week after you left the Bastion. Father was starting to drive me mad with all the ‘heavy is the crown’ tripe. Trying to make me into, you know. King material.” He grinned at Sam. “Ben’s a brainy lad. I thought Bobby might agree to teach him some research skills, but if I’d known I’d find you so… chipper, I’d have brought him to you instead.”

He was looking closely at Sam now, and Sam wondered what he saw. He knew he must seem a different person from the last time he and Dean had spoken, for so he was, utterly. When he’d ridden to the capitol after his break with Cas, he had been haggard, heartbroken, at the bitterest edge of despair and madness, almost as bad as when he and Dean had returned from the war. He had tried to feel happy for Dean, his escape from a forced, loveless marriage and his happiness with Lisa and Ben. Dean, as always, had known that all was not well, but had not pressed the issue.

He voiced some of these thoughts now, though. “You’re a different man since the last time I saw you,” Dean said. “Different from… ever, actually. What the hell happened? Who _is_ this lad? He’s out like a light, isn’t he?”

Sam nodded. “I hope he’s all right, but it’s taking him a long time to recover.”

“Recover from what? He wasn’t wounded in the fight with the dragon? I brought you a trophy, by the way.” He had set his pack on the ground, and now pulled a bloody, two-foot long talon out of it, tossing it at Sam’s feet; Sam flinched at the sight of it. “You should show them this in Devereux so they know the beast is done for.”

Sam did not answer, and there was a silence. Finally Dean said, in a slightly choked voice, “I thought you were dead, you know. You asked how I found you—that’s how. I did a locator spell—the kind that finds a person by their blood, if the caster is close kin. It found your blood, all right. A lot of it.”

“Yes, I think I lost almost all of it,” Sam said lightly. “And I think that’s why Cas is still so weak.”

Dean squinted at him. He was beginning to look angry. “That doesn’t make any damned sense. Want to tell me what you’re talking about?”

Sam sobered slightly. “Yes, I’ll tell you,” he said. “There’s… a lot I have to tell you, and I’m glad you’re here—”

“Too damned late, it seems like.”

This was what Dean was like—bitter and self-blaming after the moment was passed, while he often seemed to feel nothing in the heat of the action.

“It would have been too late for me long ago, if not for you,” Sam said gently. “And this time…. It was too late for anyone in the world to save me. Anyone… except Cas.”

“Time to explain, Sammy,” Dean said, a dangerous, sharp impatience coloring his voice.

Sam nodded. “I was dead. The dragon killed me. It speared me with its claws. All the way through. Here,” he said, pointing to his sternum. “But Cas… brought me back. With a healing spell.”

“What spell? There are no spells that can do that. You sure you aren’t exaggerating? You just got a scratch, and—”

“You saw the blood, Dean. You even know it was mine. No. I was mortally wounded, and I felt the life go out of me. As you’ll recall, it wasn’t my first time.”

“What spell was it? Where did you find this fellow? Is he some remote Campbell cousin? Village herbalist?”

“No. He’s a servant lad at Old Winchester. Originally from a village near the capitol. And he used the same spell I’ve used on you before, that only works sometimes on small wounds, and which he had seen for the first time the day before, when I did it on him.”

He watched Dean’s face as Dean put it together, squinting in disbelief at what logic was telling him. 

“Cas was the bastard son of a merchant family,” Sam continued softly. “He doesn’t know who his father is. But I do, now.”

* * *

Cas struggled back to consciousness to the sound of two voices, one as familiar as his own thoughts, the other a stranger’s. They were quite different in tone, yet they wove together to make a uniform whole. Familiarity and love, a sort of deep mutual comprehension, made them the same. The sound of their conversation didn’t disturb him, but he felt like the voices were nudging him accidentally, like a careless elbow in a crowded room, and he realized that those nudges were bits of information part of his mind, at least, was desperate to know: things about himself.

“—what Father will say when he finds out,” Sam was saying. “If I could assure him Cas is no threat to him—”

“He won’t care about that,” said Dean. “You know what he’ll care about. And… I won’t lie, Sam. It’s not what I wanted for you, and it’s… kind of weird, I guess. But I should have known already, and I’ve never seen you so happy. That in itself _is_ what I want, for whatever that’s worth—I could not be happier to see the weight that’s been lifted from you. But Father’s a different story. When he finds out that _both_ of the most magical people left in the world aren’t going to breed—”

“All things considered, that’s the least of my concerns,” said Sam.

“But… I don’t know, are you sure, Sam? I mean—could it actually have been your own magic, or something? Or if it’s his—”

“Dean, I’ve been sitting here taking care of him for days with nothing else to think about. There’s no other explanation—no one else it could be. And if you look at him—his eyes, particularly—you can actually see the resemblance.”

Cas could feel their regard turn on him. He felt a little guilty for dissembling, but he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. 

There was a short silence. “It’s not just the healing spell, either,” Sam continued. “I could never have brought the dragon down without him. I started teaching him archery just a few weeks ago, you know. He’s got natural talent—his aim is good, but his draw would never have been strong enough, even with a crossbow, to do any damage at that distance. But somehow we got the bolts mixed up, and he got my spell bolts. I didn’t figure this out until later—because, you know, I had a dragon to kill, and then I was dying and all.”

“That does tend to slow a man down,” Dean said dryly.

Cas could hear the wry smile in Sam’s voice. “As we’ve both had occasion to know,” he agreed. “But now, as I piece together memories of the fight—I had dodged the flames, and I was choking on smoke, fighting my way out of the burning glade—really, we were lucky it was foggy and snowing, otherwise the beast might have burned down the whole damned mountainside. 

“But then I felt the dragon hit the ground, and I got a glimpse of its wings as it struck at me—Cas’s bolts ripped two great, bloody holes in them. He grounded the beast. My arrows struck it near the eye twice, and did no damage at all, though I was much closer and have a much stronger draw than Cas, and all the experience. The spell bolts worked for him. His magic is the reason I’m still alive—twice over, Dean.”

Cas’s heart was pounding wildly. He had not allowed himself to realize how well his magic had worked, or that it had worked in the battle at all. He had accepted Sam’s return to life as a miracle that had been granted him—more an answer to his frantic prayers than any power that rested within him. His mind fought the meaning of Sam’s words as it tried to take root in his mind.

There was a silence between the brothers; Cas could feel them looking at him as he fought to keep his breathing even and his eyes closed against the panic that was rising in him. He could feign sleep no longer.

“Cas?” said Sam gently, and he opened his eyes to see Sam and Dean exchange a look.

“We’re pretty short on food,” said Dean, standing up at the fireside. “I have some with me, but I’ll go see if I can get a deer or some rabbits. I’m not so big on squirrel stew.”

“Cas put our food packs in a tree a couple miles back,” said Sam. “You could get some more fodder for Impala that way, too.”

“I’ll look for them,” said Dean, and strode away without another word.

Was he angry at Cas? Cas added that to the list of worries in his half-frozen mind. It swirled in such chaos as he had never known. He felt that the earth no longer held him down, but tilted crazily, threatening to dump him into the sky. He could hear his own heartbeat, thumping like a panicked rabbit caught in a trap.

“Cas,” Sam repeated for the third time. His voice was close in Cas’s ear. “Come here, love.” He helped Cas sit up and set him against his shoulder, holding him tightly. “There,” he murmured. “Everything’s all right, Cas. There’s nothing to fear. How much did you hear?”

Cas could not answer. He looked into Sam’s face pleadingly. He did not know what Sam saw in his expression, but it made Sam’s face crease in sympathy. “Enough, it seems,” Sam said. “All right. I was waiting until you were better to explain it all, but Dean left to give us some privacy, so…”

His words gave Cas an idea, and desperate for a distraction, he sat forward and kissed Sam suddenly and passionately. Sam stiffened in surprise, then melted into him, returning the kiss with intensity and tenderness. It had been many days, since the night before the dragon came, that there had been anything but brief, chaste kisses between them, and despite Cas’s weakness, they both felt the lack. Cas felt the heat between them rousing him to life, effectively chasing away the thoughts he could not face, and he ran his hands over Sam’s body eagerly, pressing himself close as Sam opened his mouth against his, returning his caresses.

Sam kissed him several times, making small sounds of desire, but instead of undressing him, he gradually slowed, took Cas’s hands to restrain them, and put Cas back from him gently, parting their lips. Cas moaned a protest, but Sam put a restraining finger to his lips, then laughed softly. 

“Cas, my love. I know you don’t want to face this, but we’re not using the time Dean gave us to get our fill of kisses. You are too weak yet for more, anyway—”

“I’m not,” Cas insisted. The panic had returned stronger than ever when Sam stopped his advances; recklessly he tried to draw Sam back, pressing against him and nuzzling his neck. “Lord, I want… I want you…”

“Stop, Cas,” Sam ordered. “You know we must talk. And you know what about.”

Unexpectedly, tears sprang to Cas’s eyes as he sat back. “I….I don’t want it,” he said. “How… how can it be true, lord? I can’t… I’m just, just a peasant woman’s son, just nobody—”

“You were never just nobody, Cas,” Sam answered, touching Cas’s face and stroking away the tears with his thumb. “What you are has been a miracle to me since we met. But I understand how hard it is to suddenly realize you are something you never expected to be.”

Cas covered his face and wept. Sam held him, rubbing his back. “Shall I tell you who your father is, Cas?” he said at length, in a strangely formal, careful voice.

Cas took a deep breath. He could not speak, but neither could he hold himself back from this knowledge, from hearing spoken aloud what his heart was already trying to tell him. He nodded against Sam’s chest.

“Prince Carver,” Sam said clearly. “The last scion of the Edlund dynasty. Cas—yours is the oldest, most royal blood left in all of Lawrence. A hundred times more royal than my family’s. If it were known—if anyone had known of the power of your magic, which brought me back from death—you would be sitting on the throne of Lawrence now, in my father’s place.”


	25. Chapter 25

Cas sat numb and unresponsive as Sam continued talking.

“You heard me telling Dean—there’s no one else it could be,” he said. “When he was young—the age you are now, actually—Prince Carver rebelled. I looked up to him when I was little, which irritated my father no end. Carver was another one who didn’t do what his parents told him to do.”

Sam laughed softly. “I never met him, but I used to dream of it. He disappeared when I was tiny—three, four maybe. A year or two before you were born, come to think of it.” He ruffled Cas’s hair, looking down at him. 

When Cas didn’t speak, he continued. “I thought he was wonderful—using his talent to help people, even though he didn’t have to. Even though it made him a laughingstock, actually. Which I never understood. Other royals sneered at him for using magic to heal—and not just other nobles. He went to poorer villages, places ravaged by bandits and such, and helped whoever needed it. Royalty thought he was _unfashionable,_ with his unprecedented power! How things have changed… my father would have given anything to find him, during the war and since. 

“We looked for him, you know. Followed rumors three or four different times, but never saw proof that he was alive. It’s commonly believed that he died before the war even started—as the most powerful magic-wielder living, the demons would have sought him first. Maybe he even knew, long before anyone else, that the war was coming, and that’s why he disappeared—”

“So he _ran away?”_ Cas blurted. He was shaking now, with every emotion, some he had never felt. He was full of an anger he didn’t fully understand. “He knew that demons were coming to our land, and instead of telling people, shoring us up for battle, he fled to save his own skin? And on his way, he… he tumbled a peasant woman, a _married_ woman with _seven children,_ then left her to explain the new baby to a husband who’d been gone for two years?”

Cas had rarely had occasion to see Sam truly surprised. He stared speechless at Cas, eyebrows climbing to his hairline.

“I’m sorry, lord,” Cas mumbled after a moment, but the tide of rage did not ebb. Tears spilled down his cheeks.

Sam embraced him again. “For what?” he murmured into his hair. “It makes sense. I’m not sure why the old Prince did what he did, uh…. with your mother. The way he did. But there are many possibilities, Cas. He may not have meant to leave you, not forever. Perhaps he loved your mother, and if they were… perhaps unwise to—”

“They were _foresworn,”_ Cas said. “They broke _vows._ It wasn’t—”

“The Prince didn’t,” said Sam. “He was not married. And as for your mother… while I disagree with it, uh… it’s common practice for royalty to regard their subjects as—”

“Theirs for the taking?” Cas finished coldly.

Sam looked down. Through the haze of his anger, Cas felt a jolt of concern at his expression. It made him realize that Sam never looked like this anymore—deeply troubled, with an edge of self-loathing.

“Much as I regarded you, when you came to Old Winchester,” Sam said quietly to the ground.

“Because I am!” Cas half-shouted. “And you didn’t—you wouldn’t _take_ what I offered, even when I begged! You—” 

Cas stopped, aghast, and clapped his hand to his mouth. Was he actually _fighting_ with Sam? He did not understand his own words. His heart was so twisted up, grief-stricken, and he hardly knew why… he had been given everything he wanted, a miracle; he had no call to reprove Sam! 

Sam took his hand, pulling it away from his mouth. “No, Cas. Say it. Don’t stop yourself. Say what you wish.”

Cas slumped in defeat. “Because I am the Prince’s son?” he said desolately. Saying the words cut him, and tears spilled out again.

“Because you’re _Cas,”_ Sam said gently, bringing Cas’s hand to his lips. “Because you always should, even if I didn’t let you before. I should have. I should always have let you speak—”

“You should have let me tell you I loved you,” Cas said, before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” Sam agreed, drawing Cas out of his tight curl in on himself, and into his arms. “I should have. I wasted so much time, Cas. I’m sorry.” He kissed the top of Cas’s head, and Cas relaxed into weeping, shoulders shaking violently.

“I don’t want it. I don’t want it to change. I only want you.”

“Whatever else you have, you will always have me.” Sam squeezed him tightly. “Cas… I can’t believe it; I don’t think I’ve said this yet. Thank you for my life. There is no one else who could have saved me. So… if you can find no other reason to be glad of who your father is, perhaps that is enough.”

“Yes, lord,” Cas said miserably. He knew that should be more than enough—it was!—but he just didn’t feel the two things connected. It had been a miracle outside himself, surely, that had saved Sam…

“Lord, I—I heard Lord Dean express doubts that it was my magic that saved you. Could he not be right? I… I know little of magic, so how could it be mine? And if I had this power in me all this time, would I not have seen signs of it before now? I have never even so much as struck a spark with magic before.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“No, but…”

“Cas, I know you are a man,” Sam said gently. “You have proved your mettle many times over, and you are wise and accomplished. So it is easy to forget that you are still very young. Even if you had been tested, your power might not have shown itself much before now. It is very unusual, even if a child is known to have magical blood, for it to begin to show as young as it did in me, or even Dean. It is more common in the teen years; it can even manifest in one’s twenties. In fact, if I recall correctly, Prince Carver himself did not display any power until he was seventeen or so. Only a year younger than you are now.”

Cas ignored this, reaching for an earlier argument. “But… still, what if it was not me? I prayed, lord. I asked for a miracle. And all your royal blood, still warm from your body, was there, on my hands—”

“That would not have healed me. If anything, the opposite. It is not truly the blood, but the life force it represents, that heals. It retains that life force for a time after it has left the body—connects back to it in the body of the wielder, which is why it weakens him if too much is spilled. Like it did you.” Sam smiled gently down at Cas, who, without realizing it, had leaned heavily on Sam as the strength lent to him by anger had begun to ebb. Sam eased him down onto his bedroll; Cas fiercely fought returning wooziness.

“If it were not your own power,” Sam continued, stroking his hair, “why are you so weakened? You were not wounded, and even if you were, this is not like any reaction to wounding that I have ever seen.”

Cas could not fight the truth anymore. “I am not a prince. Not a noble. I only want to serve you,” he mumbled, his strength fading fast.

“We will see,” Sam said gently, and when Cas struggled to sit up, protesting, he soothed him gently. “Shhh. You will always have me. Nothing will part us. Nothing can happen that you don’t wish for. But other things may change, Cas. Don’t fear it. Everything has changed inside of me, and I am better for it, and it is all thanks to you.”

“I don’t want anything to change. Well, I wanted your pain to change…”

“It has. It is gone. There are still memories, but when I think of them… I do not know how to explain, but it is nothing like it was. I feel sad, guilty, or angry, but I do not drown in it. You have healed me, not just in body. You lifted the curse, Cas. I am as I might have been, had the war never happened, or turned so dark. You have given me back my life, in all ways, and that began long before the dragon.”

For the first time, Cas began to feel the truth of what he was, and what it had done, without fighting it. He knew that Sam was right. He even felt that he remembered something—something from inside himself, traveling dark paths and blasting them with light, flushing away a poison that attacked his beloved. When he chased Sam’s fleeing life force, he destroyed what else had been chasing it, before he dragged it back to Sam’s body and set it firmly there.

“What if… I can never do it again?” he managed, as Sam tucked him into his bedroll.

“I certainly hope you never have to,” said Sam. “But as for magic generally, I know you will do it again. I can feel it. You are a great healer, Cas. It is in your heart as well as your blood. If you wish to, you will heal others. You can help our kingdom be what it once was, whether from its throne or—”

“No!” Cas cried. He fought his way back to full wakefulness, and forcing his fading strength to rally, he struggled upright. “No, Sam! I refuse! I won’t, I can’t! Please don’t… please don’t ask it of me; don’t tell anyone! You must ask Lord Dean not to tell! Is that why he doesn’t like me, because he thinks I will take the throne from him, or your father? I didn’t… didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, hey! Shhh… it’s all right… easy, Cas, you’ll do yourself harm. Don’t worry.” Sam clasped him close, restraining him; Cas fought his embrace briefly, then relaxed.

“You don’t want the throne, I take it,” Sam said. For some reason there was laughter in his voice. “I understand. I guess I didn’t really expect you to. And I get it, because I really, really don’t want it either. But my father…. He has this weird sense of honor. He _wants_ to rule. He always had ambition, but he fought it for some reason; he tried really hard to find someone from the old families who could take the crown. There was no one, of course. But by the time the war was over, people were already clamoring for him to take it. They said they wouldn’t have anyone else, even if John could find someone more royal. That was one of the reasons he hoped so much to find Prince Carver. When he finds out he had a son—”

“But it can’t be proven, can it? I… I could be the child of a peasant who had a strong gift. Wild gifts happen sometimes, don’t they?”

“Not of this kind. Only the Edlund line had this kind of healing talent. And anyway, proof would be easy. There are spells, along with old relics at the Bastion, magic artifacts that respond only to royal blood. Really, Cas, there is no doubt.”

“But King John is used to rule now. It has been years. He has surely given up the idea of abdicating, hasn’t he?”

“I’m not so sure. I think he wants Dean to be ready sooner than later, so that he can do just that. It’s never been clear exactly what he wants... never, since our mother died. The war gave him purpose, though, and so does ruling, even if he is restless about it. I think Dean rebels, and tries to look like he’s not responsible enough, just to keep Father on the throne. Dean won’t admit it, but he likes the idea of the throne. It scares him too, but he’s a good leader. He’ll do well, if… if you truly refuse.”

Cas frowned. He could not believe he was having this conversation. “Your father is a wise ruler. His military expertise is second to none, but he has proven himself in peacetime, too. He has pieced our land back together from the ragged bits of it that were left, and in just a handful of years, we are on our way to being a peaceful, prosperous land again. And… and he is to just turn it over to an eighteen-year-old servant lad with no experience and no skills?”

Sam started slightly at the end of Cas’s speech and looked up, just as Dean strode into camp.

“No worse than an irresponsible rebel who’d rather drink and chase women than talk about how to increase flocks or how much tax to levy on inns. I have better use for inns,” Dean said. He had a brace of dead rabbits slung over one shoulder, and the food bags Cas had stowed over the other. He dropped his burdens to the ground and sat with a sigh.

“So, my prince,” he said sarcastically, eyeing Cas, who perforce still leaned against Sam. “You really don’t want the throne. What do you want?”

Tears pricked Cas’s eyes at his tone. The idea of Dean seeing him as a threat, disliking him for his noble blood, was at once absurd and painful. Sam looked at him in concern as he struggled to answer; finally Cas pulled free and prostrated himself into a sitting bow, his face on the ground, between Sam and Dean.

“I only want to serve!” he cried. “I… I wish to serve the Winchester lords at Old Winchester. It is all I have ever wanted. Please, lords… do not tell your father. I will do anything you wish.”

There was a stunned silence. Cas felt Sam’s hand on his back. “Sit up, Cas.” He helped Cas do so, a little self-consciously because of Dean’s presence. “Dean, take it easy on him. He doesn’t know you; he’ll take you seriously.”

Dean laughed, a full, rich sound Cas didn’t expect. “Well, you can explain to him that that’s never a good idea,” he said. He had begun skinning a rabbit; he handed Sam the other one. “But I was being serious about what you want. Other than my brother, for some reason.”

Cas flushed. He didn’t know how much Dean knew about them being lovers.

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” Dean continued. “I don’t really get it. Women are great—I can’t imagine giving all that up, wanting to be with a man instead, or what you two… _do._ But Sam’s earned the right to whatever he wants, and now, it seems, so have you. You saved my brother.” He gave Cas a stern nod. “I won’t forget it, and nor would our father. But there’s one thing I don’t know if you can get out of. Now that we know the Edlund line of magic is still in the world…”

He glanced at Sam, who looked troubled, but said nothing. “My brother and you may both be able to get out of getting married, and maybe Sam doesn’t have to worry anymore since I’ve pretty much done the job with the Winchester line. But _you,_ my prince…” 

Dean leaned forward and clapped Cas on the shoulder, with a hand smeared in rabbit’s blood. 

“You are just going to have to find a nice, understanding lady with magic—maybe more than one—and make some magic babies.”


	26. Chapter 26

These were pretty much the last words Cas expected. After a long, shocked, speechless moment, he looked pleadingly at Sam, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

When Cas whispered, “My lord?” Sam met his look reluctantly. 

Sam cleared his throat. “I, um. Have a candidate in mind, actually.”

“You do?” said Dean and Cas at the same time. Cas glanced at Dean, who grinned. Cas relaxed a little.

“Cas, did I ever tell you… I did, actually, once propose to a woman.”

“What? You never told _me_ that,” said Dean.

“Nor me, lord,” said Cas, bewildered and a little hurt. “I thought you never wanted to marry.”

“Who? Who was it?” Dean asked.

“Dame Charlie,” Sam answered.

Cas was confused, and again hurt. Intense jealousy surged in him. Dame Charlie was beautiful, accomplished, and beloved of the people; she would make a magnificent bride. But Dean guffawed loudly, slapping his thigh. “God, Sam, I could’ve told you _that_ was hunting down the wrong trail.”

“Not for what I was hunting,” Sam said. “I… told her what I’m like, with men. I thought she would understand, since she is only attracted to other women herself.”

Cas felt nearly faint with relief. He had heard these rumors about Dame Charlie, now that he thought of it, but had dismissed them; he had not really been able to conceive that women would desire each other, though he was not sure why, since he desired only members of his own sex himself. He supposed women had always seemed above such things.

“And did she?” Dean asked. “Understand?”

“Yes and no,” said Sam. He was smiling at the memory. “I told her that, if we married, we would only… er, consummate in order to make children, if and when she wanted any. I offered her the stability and respectability of Old Winchester—foolish of me, now that I know her better, to think she would care about such things—and told her she could have as many lady lovers as she wished, if she would…look the other way at my own indiscretions. At the time, I did not expect to have many. I was resigned to solitude, but… I did want to do my duty by the kingdom. Charlie has a fairly strong magic gift, and even verifiable noble blood.”

“I know—and so does Father. He tried to get _me_ to marry her, a few months ago,” Dean said.

Sam’s eyes widened. “He _did_? Did he know about her… preferences?”

“Sure, everybody knows now. He said she’d get over it in time, and that the promise of being queen one day should help. He also said that with a husband as pretty as me, it shouldn’t matter that much.” Dean grinned rakishly.

“So he… wasn’t troubled by her preferences, overmuch?”

“No. But… it might be different when it’s his son.”

There was a silence in which Cas looked curiously at Sam, who looked as grim as he ever did these days. That was not very, compared to how he’d often looked before the dragon. Sam caught Cas looking at him and gave him a wry, gentle smile.

Encouraged, Cas pushed past his shocked bewilderment and asked, “What did Dame Charlie think of your proposal?”

“Well, at first she was upset. She hit me—not hard enough to hurt me, and I thought she was angry that I would ask her to make a vow she fully intended to break. I had a plan for that, actually, but never ended up telling her.”

“What was the plan?” Dean asked, and at the same time Cas asked, “What was she actually upset about?”

Sam glanced between them and said, “She was upset that I wanted to live a lie and never tell anyone who I really was. And my plan was to find a priest we could trust, and just have him say to me, “forsaking all other women”, and to Charlie, “forsaking all other men.” Instead of just forsaking _all_ others for as long as we both live. A vow we could keep, by a technicality.”

“Smart.” Dean nodded. “I’ve taught you well.”

“So she... rejected you,” Cas said wonderingly. He could not imagine anyone doing so, and it showed in his voice. Sam smiled tenderly at him while Dean snorted derisively.

“Yes and no,” said Sam. “What she said was, ‘One day, no time soon, I might remember this, and if you’re over this stupid idea of doing things the honorable way, and I find the right lady to do it with, I might like to raise a child.’ She likes the idea of having a daughter to teach magic and other things.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” said Dean. “Better than I expected, and now I hear she has that right lady she mentioned.”

“Right... Gilda, wasn’t it?” Sam said. “Isn’t she a witch of some kind, too?”

“She is. She’s from one of the cold island kingdoms in the eastern ocean that we don’t know much about—only person I ever heard of from there who came this far west into the continent. They keep to themselves, mostly, and are very secretive about their magic, but if we could cross their magic bloodlines with ours...”

“You’re starting to sound a bit like Father,” said Sam dryly. “But point taken. Between her, Charlie, Cas and me...”

The brothers both turned to regard Cas, who was numb with disbelief. An unfamiliar feeling rose up in him... indignation, or rebellion, he wasn’t sure.

“I... I have never met these women! And I don’t... I didn’t know... what if I...” He sputtered helplessly. “My lord... lords... I have never desired a woman, and I don’t know anything about babies! How can I...” Tears sprang to his eyes. This was unbelievable. In a matter of hours, his life had become completely unrecognizable, spinning ever more out of his control.

Sam’s face crumpled with concern. As if Sam’s sympathy had given him permission to feel it at last, a wave of weakness swept over him, and he sagged forward as Sam quickly leaned to catch him and lay him down on his bedroll.

“All right, Cas. I’m sorry,” said Sam. “You’re right. This is too much. We shouldn’t be talking about you like a prize stud of my father’s herd. I got carried away. You rest now. No one will make you do anything, I promise.”

Cas was filled with timid guilt at his outburst, but as his strength faded, he could not take one word of it back. “I... I would wish to obey... and serve you any way I can, lord,” he stammered as Sam covered and settled him comfortably. “I just fear I cannot...”

“You will not. You can’t simply obey, Cas, not in this. It’s too big for that... which is what my father never understood when I tried to tell him so. Never fear, Cas. All will be well.”

Sam could not cradle Cas reassuringly or kiss away his fears, as he would if Dean were not present, but he spoke soothingly until Cas’s heart stopped pounding and he slipped once again into darkness.

* * *

They spoke no more of children or of magic bloodlines for some days. Sam cared for Cas, who began to gain strength, and to their delight, the horses found them. First Blue came wandering into camp, and Cas, napping while Sam cooked and Dean hunted for food, was awakened when the horse lipped his hair affectionately. Upstart and the mule followed the scent of other horses and turned up the next morning. Sam declared Cas strong enough to ride for short stretches, and so they began the journey to North Devereaux.

It took twice as long as it should, and Dean grumbled about the delay, but Cas, coming to understand his future king, realized he didn’t really mind. He was glad to ride with his brother again. When Sam found signs of a troll’s lair on the third day of their journey, Dean moved to track and dispatch it with the air of one riding to a great entertainment long looked for. Sam accompanied him, and it was over so quickly that Cas hardly even knew what happened.

“Maybe I should ride out this way with you more often,” Dean said to Sam, cheerfully cleaning blood from his sword. “Help you clear these lands like you wanted.”

“Shouldn’t you be home making more royal babies?”

“My part’s done for the next while,” Dean replied with a cheeky grin. “Not that I mind attending my husbandly duties.”

They bantered thus often, and Cas listened, mystified. He could never have talked so with any of his brothers, not even Gabriel. He was careful not to interfere in the brothers’ relationship, and Dean was careful of him. He was somewhat distant with Cas, and Cas wasn’t sure if Dean even liked him. It worried him, that Dean’s opinion of him would lessen Sam’s affections. This worry was compounded by the fact that Sam did not hold or kiss him anymore, though Cas knew that was really because Dean was always there. They still shared a bedroll for warmth, but Sam no longer held Cas as he slept, and Cas sorely missed it.

One evening, they had ridden a full day’s ride for the first time, and Sam was concerned that they had taxed Cas’s improving strength. Perhaps it was so, for Cas could not stay awake long enough even to eat supper, much less to make it as he had been doing. Sam ushered him into their bedroll while Dean was still setting up camp and laying the fire, and he fell instantly asleep.

He woke early the next morning. The rosy light of dawn painted their camp in gentle strokes. There was a rare break in the cold, and Cas had slept long, so he poked his head out of the covers to look around. All was still. Dean lay in his own bedroll nearby; Cas glimpsed him across the banked coals of the fire, unmoving in the dawn light. Cas stirred, thinking to rise early and make a good breakfast for the lords, since he had shirked his supper duties the night before, but as he moved, Sam murmured in his sleep, and suddenly his warmth was pressed to Cas’s back. His arms came around Cas and tucked him close, face buried in Cas’s neck. “Cas,” he sighed, and nuzzled and kissed Cas’s neck sensually.

Much as he welcomed and indeed craved this affection, Cas stiffened anxiously. Sam’s sleeping voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but it seemed loud as a klaxon in the dawn silence of their camp. Cas lay perfectly still, wide-eyed, waiting for Sam to settle, trying to sense whether he could slip out of his arms, though he hated the idea and wanted nothing more than to turn his head toward Sam’s nuzzling for a kiss. Perhaps Dean still slept…

“My Cas,” Sam repeated. He tucked Cas even closer, tightening his embrace. Cas was well and truly trapped. “Mmm.” Sam made a noise of deep contentment, then breathed, “I love you…” The words seemed to carry him into deeper sleep.

Cas melted. He could do nothing but answer. “I love you, too,” he said, turning his head to kiss Sam’s forearm where it clutched his upper chest. 

He closed his eyes a moment as deep contentment stole over him. All his fears about losing Sam’s affections dissolved in the feeling of utter rightness. He had brought Sam back from death—he allowed himself to realize this fully for the first time. When Sam had died in his arms, and Cas had chased his spirit and broken the dark thing that fettered it, all that had stood between them was vanquished. He could feel, in that rosy dawn stillness, that Sam was his forever. He snuggled deep into Sam’s embrace and opened his eyes to look at the growing dawn.

What he saw instead was Dean’s open eyes, meeting his across the fire. He started a little, then forced himself to stillness so as not to wake Sam. He flushed and looked away from Dean’s steady gaze.

Dean said simply, “He sleeps now, I see.”

His normal, conversational voice was even louder than Sam’s murmur had been. Cas started again and said nothing, but Dean seemed to expect an answer, so he whispered, “Yes, lord.”

“You probably know he didn’t before. Not since the war,” Dean continued casually. Cas did not look at him, but could feel his gaze. He realized that Dean was looking his brother over with great interest. “Whenever he did, nightmares woke him before long. He hasn’t had a nightmare since I found you two. I thought he’d never sleep a full night again.”

Cas nodded, not knowing what to say. He had feared the same, ever since he knew Sam’s secret. The change had happened so gradually he had not noticed that, whereas before he had always woken well before Cas, and stirred and woke often in what little sleep he did take, in the days just before their hunt for the dragon, Sam had slept easy in his arms nearly every night. The realization swelled his heart with unexpected pride.

Dean sat up and put wood on the fire, sparking it to life with his power. Cas stirred uncomfortably. It went against the grain to watch the crown prince of his kingdom do camp chores. “Lord, I… I can make breakfast…” He paused, wondering if he could. He did not want to wake Sam, especially after Dean had acknowledged the accomplishment of making him sleep, and he could not escape his tight embrace without doing so.

“Nah. Let him sleep,” Dean said, rummaging in the food bags and pulling out a pot. “And you’re going to have to get over this ‘lord’ business. I’m Dean. That’s Sam. He’s your lover, so it’s weird to call him lord, and as for me, I guess that makes me kind of like your brother in law. I know you’re not used to this royalty business, but as Sam told you, your blood is actually far more royal than ours. So…” he paused and frowned at Cas. “Cut it out. You’re not our servant.”

Cas recognized a command when he heard one, and barely stopped himself from saying, “Yes, lord.” Instead he stammered, “All… all right.” All he had ever really wanted was to be Sam’s servant, but he put that thought aside for later.

Dean nodded firmly at him as if that settled the matter. “I’ve already told you I won’t forget that you saved his life,” Dean said. “But I haven’t said that… it’s more than that. I don’t know how you did it. I started to think he was never going to make it, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. But somehow you made him better. So… thanks for that. Whatever I can do to make sure my little brother has everything he needs, I’m going to do. That now includes you. If you need my help wrangling my father, or anything else at all… if it comes down to it, I’d even help you two disappear. As long as I always know where he is. He’s earned this, Cas. I’m not sure even you know how much. We’d all be dead now, or the slaves of demons, if not for him. Sam is the only reason there’s a Lawrence.”

Cas blinked unexpected tears from his eyes. “I know it,” he answered.

Dean looked at him for a long moment. “Maybe you, of all people, really do,” he said. “Sam saved what was left of our past. He believes you’ll create our future. Don’t let him down.”

With that, he strode to the edge of camp, taking the bridles of the horses to lead them to water, leaving Cas trembling in Sam’s arms.


	27. Chapter 27

Over the next many days, the brothers and Cas made their way to North Devereaux. They saw little sign of civilization and nothing habitable, but they found some of the lands the dragon had burned—blackened forests and meadows, and the bones of sheep. He felt a surge of pride, looking at this devastation, that he’d had a hand in ending it. He caught Sam’s eye once as they rode over a stream swirling with the ash of burned trees, catching a small smile on his face, and he knew Sam felt the same.

Cas found himself able to relax more around Dean. It was hard to shed his habit of calling him lord, but Dean ignored his occasional slip-up, and once Cas came to understand that almost nothing Dean said was serious, he thought Dean seemed to be warming to him.

His strength was growing, but his endurance was still erratic: fatigue stalked him at unpredictable times, and once it pounced, it took him down quickly. Sometimes it happened after only a couple of hours riding, other times, increasingly, he could ride all day and still make supper in the evenings, though Sam and Dean insisted on taking turns with all the camp chores.

Late one morning, when they stopped at a stream to take food and water the horses, Dean said, “I’ve come to Devereaux along this trail before. We could make the town by dark if we ride fast, but if we don’t want to hurry, there’s a shepherd’s cabin a couple miles ahead that’ll be empty this time of year, where we could be more comfortable than we’ve been in a while.” 

He eyed Cas, who was drooping a little where he sat. He never said anything about Cas’s condition, leaving it to Sam to say when Cas had had enough for the day, but Cas had come to think Dean was aware of it. Without comment, Dean often checked Impala’s eagerness to eat up the miles on a good clear trail like the one they’d been following for the last few days, if it seemed like Cas was in need of rest.

“Let’s make for the cabin,” said Sam. “I know it too. I slept there for a couple of days once, when I was wounded after a hunt last year.”

Dean gave him a sharp look. “I didn’t know you ever came this far north. And by yourself?”

“I don’t often, but only by myself. The knights don’t come so far. But there was a dire wolf pack near here, and I didn’t want it to get out of control.”

“The knights don’t come so far?” Dean’s voice climbed angrily. “Don’t you command them? They’d damn well better go as far as—” 

“I wouldn’t ask,” Sam said shortly. “Though… I might now. I didn’t like to be in their company for so long, on a serious hunt.”

There was a silence. Dean knew why Sam had preferred to hunt alone, and why that might now have changed.

After a moment, Dean said, “They’ve had enough trouble in Devereaux, and they’re serious enough about rebuilding it, that maybe they should have a knight or two in residence. Under your command, of course.”

“Maybe so,” said Sam easily. “Or if the town can’t support one, we could simply ride out in parties more often.”

Dean seemed taken aback by Sam’s relaxed response, but after a moment, he simply smiled. “They’ll be glad to see us when we arrive. Especially you, dragon-slayer. There are some comely lasses in Devereaux, too. Too bad neither of you can fully enjoy their gratitude.”

“Neither can you, other dragon-slayer,” Sam shot back, and Dean laughed.

“I’ll be content with a good bed and some good ale,” he answered.

They came to the shepherd’s cabin before long. After so long in the wilderness, the little shack with a chimney, indicating a real fireplace inside, and the crumbling old well nearby looked like ultimate luxury. But as Sam and Cas dismounted and began taking the tack off their horses, Dean remained mounted.

“You two stay here and get some rest,” he said, and Cas thought there was a secretive glint in his eye as he looked at Sam. “An easy ride could get you there by midmorning tomorrow. I’ll tell the residents to expect their heroes by noontime. Bring that talon!” He grinned and turned Impala back toward the trail.

“You’re going on? It’ll be dark before you get there, won’t it?”

Dean gave Sam an affronted look over his shoulder. “Have you _met_ my horse?” he asked pointedly. “She’s been getting bored with you laggards. I’ll let her stretch her legs a little, and I’ll be having a hot supper before even the grandmothers retire tonight, along with that good ale and good bed.” He chirruped to Impala and waved carelessly as she started into a quick trot, then he bent forward and murmured to her; she snorted and leapt into a gallop, disappearing in moments down the trail.

Sam looked after him, eyebrows raised. “Show off,” he muttered, then caught Cas’s eye as, at the same moment, it occurred to them: they were alone, with good shelter and privacy for the night, for the first time in weeks.

Cas hardly knew how they got the horses settled and the other minimal chores dispatched before they were in the cabin’s little bed together. When they realized the gift Dean had given them of a whole long evening and night to themselves, all the thwarted lust and need for affection seemed to hit them at once. They were kissing frantically before they even reached the door of the cabin; Sam seemed to be trying to undress them both even as he hastily laid a fire and sparked it to life, and Cas stuffed the straw-tick and laid their bedroll on it.

Sam’s every touch, as he pushed Cas’s clothes aside impatiently to reach his flesh, brought an almost painful ecstasy. Cas wriggled out of the last of his many layers of clothes, blazing hot though the fire had not yet warmed the chilly little cabin, and eagerly pulled off Sam’s shirt as Sam, shedding his trousers, laughed breathlessly, laying him down and crawling on top of him, skin to skin at last. 

“We must be gentle with you, my love,” Sam breathed, easing onto his knees to straddle Cas so Cas wasn’t taking his full weight. “You are not fully recovered yet.”

Cas wanted to object; he did not think he wanted gentleness, but he could not speak around the blinding bliss of Sam’s touch and only moaned in response, pulling Sam hard against him.

After kissing and fondling Cas and receiving the same from him until they were both painfully aroused, Sam turned Cas over and tenderly positioned him comfortably, lubing him so thoroughly with the massage oil that Cas writhed with need and begged him to take him before he finally did.

It was different from how it had ever been before. True to his word, though searingly passionate, Sam was very gentle, but it did not seem to be an effort because of Cas’s frailty. Always before, the intensity of the act had carried Sam into silence but for sounds of pleasure. This time he spoke tenderly to Cas the whole time, words of love and praise escalating to shouts of ecstasy.

“I love you! I love you, Cas, Cas!” he shouted hoarsely as he convulsed on top of Cas. “My love, my beautiful man, my hero…” He chanted thusly, over and over as he spurted into Cas for long minutes; Cas cried out his love in return, bucking beneath him as wave after wave of ecstasy battered him.

At last they were still. Cas lay face down with Sam curled over him in a crouch, resting against him and breathing hard. All thoughts fled in this pure elation and love. Cas wanted nothing but this, forever.

Soon, Sam eased off of him and rolled him onto his back, curling next to him and holding him close. Cas sighed blissfully and embraced him. Sam kissed him at length, slowly and lazily. One kiss became two, then many, with mounting urgency, then Sam was kissing all over his neck and chest, stroking lower with agonizing sweetness until, surprisingly soon, they were both flooded by urgent need again; Cas moaned and tried to wriggle into position for Sam to take him again, but Sam resisted, pressing him flat on his back.

Cas surrendered, thinking that Sam wanted more foreplay, but instead, Sam moved to kiss low on Cas’s stomach, gently squeezing his balls and moving his hand up the shaft as he sucked gently on Cas’s hipbones, and as it occurred to Cas that this was new territory, Sam’s softly insistent, warm, wet moth moved in and down, until Cas gasped in surprise.

“S—Sam!” he stuttered. “I—you shouldn’t, I—” He could not finish his protest, as Sam lingeringly kissed his cock and a flash of white took Cas’s vision.

“I am sorry that I never did before,” Sam whispered, nuzzling Cas’s cock with his cheek as he spoke. “I wanted to, so much. I was afraid, because of… what came before. But you have healed that, Cas. There will never again be anything to fear between us, no master and no servant, nor even any lord and prince. You are my Cas and I’m your Sam…” and he took Cas deeply in his mouth, stealing any voice or thought of protest as the truth of his words and his touch wrapped Cas in blissful, heavenly fire, taking them both away from the little shepherd’s cabin in the winter forest to a realm of perfect love.

* * * 

It was many hours before they were sated. They repeated every act of love they knew, as many times as their eager, love-starved bodies could manage, until the cabin was warm and dark, the fire burned down to lowest embers. Cas was happily curled half on top of Sam, head on his shoulder, while Sam sleepily stroked his hair.

Thought returned slowly, and with it words. “Sam,” Cas said at last into the soft darkness, quietly in case Sam had fallen asleep.

“Mmm?” Sam replied, closing his arms tighter around Cas and settling him closer.

“Must I… be a prince? Need everything change, or could we… go back to Old Winchester, and live as we have been?”

He did not mention the matter of children, though, oddly, he was not as troubled with the thought as he had expected. The matter of _how_ was still a worry, but mostly, he thought with longing of what he and Sam had begun to build in Old Winchester, and that he wished for more of it, only with a happy, healthy Sam.

“I am not sure if it will ever be as it was, Cas, and I think you would not really want it to,” Sam answered gently. “For we are not as we were. But… being a prince, and more importantly, being you, Cas—there is no ‘must’. There are things I wish for… duties to our country that I still feel I should fulfill, but as for you? I would give you anything you wish. Any life that you desire, you have earned.”

Cas thought, somehow, that Sam would go on to describe what that life should be—what Cas might want—but he did not. He simply held Cas, stroking him gently. 

Cas thought hard. Somehow, he had never expected… this. Choice, of anything he desired, including his one desire, curled around him and, he now knew, utterly his. Sam was all he had ever wanted. He had given little thought with what to do with him, and himself, now that he had him. Being Sam’s servant, and being the best at it he could possibly be, had been the beginning and end of his ambition.

“It doesn’t seem real,” he began hesitantly. “That… I have magic, and can heal. I don’t know what it means. But I… I have dreams about it.” 

He had not spoken of these dreams, never even thinking of them in the daytime, moments after he woke. In sleeping silence at night, as now, he sometimes remembered. When Sam squeezed him encouragingly, he continued.

“I dream of healing,” he said softly. “Of the feeling when I… I found the spark of your life and brought it home, and fed it with my own. It… it was _easy,_ Sam. It felt real and right, as nothing I have ever tried to do or learn ever has. I know things about it that no one has ever told me… such as, perhaps I gave you too much of the life inside me, and I can see how I could have done it differently, without blasting you with all I have… though maybe less would not have brought you back. I don’t know. But in these dreams, I… I feel like I have healed before, many times. I… I feel like I am remembering things that never happened. People I never knew. It frightens me a little.”

“Hmm.” Sam seemed to be more wakeful now, propping himself up on one elbow. “I have read of reactions such as these to magic. It was not the same for me, but I remember dreaming more vividly, too, when the magic first woke in me. You know that Dean and I got our magic at the same time? That was odd, considering he was older than me, but we were both young for it. I always believed it came into us at that time because we would soon need it. Also, sometimes, when Dean and I both did a lot of battle magic in one day? We would have the _same_ dream that night.”

“Is… that how magic works?”

“It does not work the same way for any two people, I don’t think,” Sam answered. “But in the early days of the war, when there was still time to talk and my father was more inclined to do so, he told us of his youth and his own discovery of magic, and it was similar to mine and Dean’s. So perhaps it runs in families. Unfortunately, we may never know much about how magic works. Much of the old lore is gone.”

Cas was silent a long time, contemplating, until Sam said, “So, it sounds like you want to heal more.”

“Yes,” he said softly. “And learn what there is to learn of magic… from you, and in the library at Old Winchester, if you will consent to teach me.”

Sam kissed his shoulder. “I think you will find you know more of some things than I or the library can ever give you,” he said. “But I will teach you everything I know. We will start in the morning.”


	28. Chapter 28

Cas roused briefly in the dawn light coming in through the cabin’s one small window. Sam sent him back to sleep after a few sleepy kisses. “You need your rest, love,” he said, and Cas was too tired to argue.

He woke again in broader morning, and heard Sam’s voice cheerfully talking to the horses. He remembered the morning he had met Sam, bloodied, dark, and silent on his horse. Had it really only been a matter of months? It seemed a lifetime ago. As Cas heard a horse snort and Sam laugh in response, he thought it impossible that this was the same person as that stern, distant lord.

As he rose, eager for Sam but reluctant to leave the unaccustomed comfort of the humble straw mattress, he felt a thrill of dread for the day ahead. They would ride into Devereaux that day, back into the world. He could not fathom what that would mean.

It was cold but bright outside. Sam did not hear Cas approach over the snorting and stamping of the horses as he tended them.

“My lord…” Cas began.

Sam turned, and Cas’s heart contracted at the way his face lit up. He was again struck by the difference in Sam, day to day, as hope and a brightness of spirit grew in him.

“Cas,” Sam said, striding to meet him. “Good morning, love. I thought we’d left lord and prince behind.” He embraced Cas and kissed him sweetly.

Cas held on tightly and returned the kiss before Sam released him. “We have… I was just—thinking. Wondering…”

He paused, watching Sam return to currying the horses. He could hardly take his eyes off him. He was flooded with love, awe of Sam’s beauty in the bright morning sun, and incredulousness at the joy that seemed to radiate from him.

Sam smiled as he faltered. “Wondering what?” he prompted.

“Well—Lord Dean will have been in North Devereaux some time before we arrive… do you think he will mention… who you believe my father is?”

“You mean, will he announce to the village that there is a new prince of the realm and you should all bow to his glory?” Sam was laughing, but he stopped at the look of horror on Cas’s face. 

“Sorry… no, Cas.” He finished with the horses and took Cas’s hand, leading him back to the cabin. “We spoke about it. He’ll say nothing of you or your parentage. We’re not putting any pressure on you until you decide what you want.”

“If it really is to be what I want…” Cas hesitated. He had been thinking on these matters since the night before. “I wish for no one to know my parentage. You are right that things cannot be as they were, but in Old Winchester, I believe folk have already come to consider me your apprentice… so if that can simply expand to include magic training…”

“Indeed. We can just tell the truth, or at least part of it. We will say you have a magic gift that has just awakened, and I am training you to use it in service of the realm. But, Cas…”

They sat down in the cabin next to the ashes of last night’s fire. Sam took Cas’s hand before continuing. “We can try to keep your parentage a secret. But if you use your healing gift to its full potential, others will make the connection Dean and I made. And if someone with a gift as strong as, say, Bobby’s or Charlie’s, actually sees you perform magic of _any_ kind… they will know. There are even some among my knights who might perceive it.”

Cas’s shoulders sagged under the weight of Sam’s words. Sam squeezed his hand, and Cas straightened himself determinedly.

“We will climb that mountain when we get there. And… I wished to speak to your desire for me, and you, to father children.”

Sam’s eyebrows climbed to his hairline. “You do?”

“Yes. Do you wish to _raise_ children, too? And did you discuss it with Dame Charlie?”

“We didn’t talk about that, no. I never thought I’d have… you. Someone I would want to raise children with. And… yes, I think I would like to. But that would be up to Charlie, or whatever woman consented to bear our children.”

“I have heard,” Cas continued carefully, “that there is a spell that may be done on a woman when she conceives, to make her likely to have twins.”

Sam nodded. “Yes. That spell exists, and we can find someone who knows it, if Charlie doesn’t. Or Gilda. Of course, one baby is a lot to ask of any woman, especially from someone not her husband, but I see where you’re going with this…”

“Yes. If she would consent to have twins, we could raise one, and Dame Charlie and her lady the other.”

Sam seemed stunned. He grinned at Cas. “You will never stop surprising me, love,” he said, leaning to kiss him. “Tell me, please, that you would not do this just to please me. Or even because it is what your king would order, if he knew who you are.”

Cas did not answer immediately, and when he did, the words came slowly. “I cannot… say that for sure,” he said. “I wish to give you what you want, and to serve my king faithfully. But it is also something that has been coming on me since I first healed you, and that I have understood more as you and Dean explained my parentage and what it means. A feeling that… there are things I must do in this life. I cannot explain it any better. For myself, all I ever wanted was you. Beyond reason, beyond even my heart and my earthly desire…”

Cas paused, and swallowed, looking up into Sam’s warm, soft eyes, so close and present, having lost the terrible distance they used to hold. “Sam, I wanted you in a way… irrefutable to my soul. I could not see what I would be, and do, if I could not have you, and it wasn’t… just romantic obsession, truly. I hope that you will not laugh at me, but… I feel I was born for you. But perhaps not just for you—if it is not ridiculously arrogant—but I simply can’t deny it, Sam… I was… I think I was born for the kingdom, to serve it through you. By loving you.”

“You have done that already,” Sam said. “It is not arrogant. It is good to hear that you begin to see yourself more clearly, Cas. I feel what you are feeling. I may even have known it before you did. Once I was able to… accept that you loved me, I knew that if there could ever be healing for me, it would be through you.”

Tears filled Cas’s eyes and he flung himself into Sam’s arms. Sam caught him, laughing softly, and kissed him.

“I did not want this,” Cas managed after a moment. “I mean… to be Carver Edlund’s son, and to find my life so changed. But now that it is…I feel perhaps that I always knew, inside. I knew that I must serve. You and Lord Dean—you tell me I am not a servant, and you look ill upon it when I do chores for you. But a servant is truly what I was born to be, and there is no higher honor. You yourself, and all your family, are servants of Lawrence, and you have put your lives below those of all of her citizens—you would give yours for the lowliest of theirs. I am the same, I am learning. That is what makes you—us—royal.”

Sam put Cas back from him so he could look into Cas’s face. Sam looked utterly bewildered, even startled, eyes wide and brows lifted to the widow’s peak of his hairline. Cas found it irresistible, and raised himself on tiptoe to kiss it, but Sam remained speechless for so long that Cas asked, “Have I… said something wrong?’

“No,” Sam answered, recovering and squeezing Cas reassuringly. “It is all… very right, but nothing I ever expected you to say. You have grown immeasurably, Cas. I forget, sometimes… how young you are, and indeed I am, as you have pointed out before. It feels like I have lived lifetimes already… well, as I have, since I have died twice. But you make me realize that life is only beginning.”

He took Cas’s hand and led him back into the cabin; they sat on the edge of the bed together. “I was also surprised because, in a way, you sound like my father. He would very much approve of that little speech, and… he and I always clashed about it. Even Dean, who has always been more the dutiful son than I, chafed at his talk of service to the realm. It was in my heart, but so was a great deal of bitterness, and I find there is just no reason for that, now that I have you.”

“You do seem greatly changed.” Cas was relieved to say it out loud.

“It came upon me so gradually... well, very suddenly really, when you brought me back from death, but the realization was slower. And seeing how Dean reacted to me, and now you… you are still surprised when I laugh, I notice. Sometimes I am, too. I had forgotten how… but it is so different now. Those dark days of being a broken, miserable shell of a man… in a way I can hardly remember them. They seem… outside my life. 

“It was _all_ I could see when I met you: that the world was a terrible place that had broken me, and all that was left to me was to do my duty until I could leave it. I could only be… what my father raised us to be, a bulwark against much greater darkness that was always threatening. I could never accept that the threat was gone… because it wasn’t, in me. It had lodged itself inside me and was consuming me. Even without the dragon, Cas… I would have died but for you. It was… winning.”

Cas was still for a moment. The cabin was dim and cold; last night’s fire was ashes, and only a little winter sunlight came in from the one small, high window. “I know,” he whispered. “I did not understand what it was, when I met you. But I felt it—even before then. When I was thirteen, and saw you riding with your family to Dean’s heir appointment. And I felt that I wanted to heal it. I thought to do so with service, kindness, and the love that I felt so strongly compelled to give you… I did not know I could literally heal you.”

“Without that love, my body might have been healed, but my spirit would still have been sorely wounded,” Sam said. “Now we are both changed so much, it is almost like we are getting to know each other for the first time.”

“Yes!” Cas’s heart leaped to have this recognized; he was not sure why, except that it addressed a nameless fear he sometimes felt.

Sam smiled at him. “Well…” He leaned closer to Cas, offering himself for a kiss, which Cas gladly gave him. He glanced behind him at the bed. “Once we reach Devereaux, there may be less opportunity for… exploring deeper acquaintance,” he said, running his hands over Cas’s sides, sneaking a hand under his shirt. “Perhaps, before we leave…”

He never finished the sentence, but Cas answered its sentiment with deeply enthusiastic agreement.

* * *

Sometime later, Cas was packing their bedroll, and turned to take the packs out to the horses, when Sam stopped him. “Perhaps we should light a fire and have a quick meal, while we have a fireplace to cook on,” he said.

Cas was surprised. He had expected Sam to want to get started, as the morning was getting old, and had thought they would eat some cold rations on horseback. After all, they would be in town in a few hours, and no doubt would have meals cooked for them at an inn.

“All right,” he said, setting down the packs. Sam was laying a fire in the fireplace; as Cas rummaged their meager foodstuffs, he waited for the familiar rush of heat of Sam magically bringing the fire instantly to a good cooking temperature.

It never came. Cas paused, setting aside the iron pot and the last of their dried vegetables and rabbit-jerky made in camp a few nights ago. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him expectantly. He gestured at the fireplace.

“You start it,” he said.

Cas blinked. He had never once started their campfires, though he used to start a fire in Sam’s chambers upon learning that he was returning, so they would be warm when he arrived. Perhaps, since they were staying indoors, Sam wanted him to return to his usual castle duties. “Yes, lord,” he said automatically, and pulled the unused flint and tinder from its pocket in the food pack.

“Not with that,” Sam said, coming to kneel next to Cas. He took the flint and tinder and returned it to the pack, caressing Cas’s hands as he released them. He gave Cas a little smile of understanding—he knew what had gone through Cas’s head, and with that smile gently refuted it. “It is time for your first magic lesson.”

“Oh!” Cas looked from Sam to the fireplace and back. “I… I don’t know what to do,” he confessed.

“You will not, until you do it,” Sam said, drawing him over to the fireplace. “With these most basic of magics, it is mostly instinct. Just… hold your hand under the edge of the wood, and… ask the fire to come out of it. I don’t have to think about it anymore, but when I was learning, that’s how my father described it.”

Cas swallowed, extremely self-conscious. Sam was watching him, but when Cas looked at him again, he tactfully turned a little away. Cas held his hand under the wood as instructed, feeling foolish and… like a liar, somehow. Like he had fooled Sam, and now the truth would out. But he felt… something. A warmth within the cold wood on the chilly stone. He let this enter his consciousness, and tugged at it, saying coaxingly in his mind, _Come out._

Sam shouted as Cas felt a searing flash of heat wash over him. Sam seized him and yanked him backwards. Cas blinked, dazed for a moment, as Sam said, “Cas! Cas, look at me, love.”

He obeyed, looking into Sam’s panicked face as Sam examined him closely, touching his face and then his hands. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. “I can’t see any harm….oh.” He brushed his hand gently over Cas’s forehead, and his hand came away with an odd gray smear on it. “Are you all right?” he repeated. “Does it hurt?”

“No… does what hurt? What happened?”

Sam looked relieved when he spoke, and grinned. “Well, look,” he said, gesturing at the fireplace.

Cas blinked again. There was a stain of black far up the stone wall of the fireplace, and the generous pile of wood was gone. So were the half-burned remnants of last night’s fire. There were no embers or even solid clumps of ash, only a fine, pale-gray drift over the stone. As he stared, a flake of ash fell from far up the chimney and landed on top of the drift, trailing a faint curl of smoke.

“I… I did that?” he stuttered.

Sam laughed. “You did,” he said. “And I am afraid, my beautiful lad, that the price of this fine demonstration of power was your eyebrows.” He brushed his thumb across Cas’s brow, and there was the gray smear again. “I would be much more worried, except Dean did the same thing once when we were learning magic together. He had some problems with control.”

Cas felt at his face frantically. Sam rummaged in a pack and withdrew a cloth, wetting it from his canteen. “Here,” he said, and tenderly wiped Cas’s face, which stung faintly. The cloth came away sooty. “It shouldn’t hurt much… it’s a lot like a sunburn. We will be more careful next time.”

“I did that?” Cas repeated, and Sam laughed again.

“Yes. You are very powerful… what did you say to the fire? Could you feel it?”

“Yes… it was in the wood. I just… asked it to come out, like you said.”

“Ah. Well… I think Dean got really frustrated, when he wasn’t getting the results he wanted, and _ordered_ it to come out. He commanded magic aloud when we were first learning, until Father scolded him out of it, and I heard him shout something like, ‘ _Burn_ , damn you!’ And then he yelled in pain, and I ran into his room and saw something much like this. Only… less. I’ve never seen someone turn a huge pile of wood to ash in an instant. You have a very powerful gift.”

Cas was still a little dazed, but he laughed with relief. If Dean had done something similar, it couldn’t be _that_ strange. Sam suggested that they leave off playing with fire for now, and they ate a cold meal after all as Sam prepared them to leave. Cas knew he should help, but his mind was buzzing-full, and he hardly realized how much time had passed when Sam asked him if he was ready to ride.

“Yes,” he answered, rising automatically, but he swayed on his feet, and Sam steadied him.

“Easy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Cas. I thought this would be a tiny expenditure of power, that you wouldn’t even feel it, but maybe it was foolish to start your lessons when you were not fully recovered yet.”

“I’m well, Sam,” Cas said. He was, mostly. He was just dizzied by the paths of power he could see in his head whenever he closed his eyes. He had _magic._ He had not quite believed it before.

“Next time, try asking the fire for exactly what you want. I just picture it, I guess. The fire I want for cooking or warmth, and it’s always the same, a sort of map I’ve drawn in my mind to that place in my magic that never changes. I only have to think about it when I’m very tired, but you haven’t drawn your map yet. We’ll work on that next time.”

Cas nodded soberly. Sam glanced at him with concern, and seemed to think it best to leave him to his thoughts as they began their ride.

An hour or two later, Sam said, “Well, you will need more rest and recovery in Devereaux, and we will let the people think your missing eyebrows are due to your fight with the dragon. That will give them a visible excuse to cosset you, which I don’t have.”

Cas nodded. “Will they… I don’t know what to expect there,” he confessed. He had been too drawn into the strange interior world revealed by his use of magic to think on it, but now his worries about returning to society returned. “Will they know we’re lovers?”

“I don’t see why, and… there is no need to inform them, I suppose. They would not be so unwise as to look judgmentally on the saviors of their town, I hope, but… well, it is not their business, and I know you wish to keep secret your heritage, so I think it is best to say you are my squire and apprentice. Not entirely untrue, and they will then understand why we share a room… and there are not so many rooms at the little inn there that this will seem odd, anyway. It is not exactly _denying_ what we are. Sound all right?”

Cas nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That seems… best. Lord Dean seemed eager to visit them, and to think we would be well-received. What sort of folk…”

He trailed off as an odd sound reached his ears. It sounded like… music. Pipes and drums in a group, and other than not sounding particularly polished or practiced, it reminded Cas of the musicians that played for the tournament in Old Winchester. The sound drifted in and out with the wind, which also brought the distant chatter of excited voices.

Sam urged his horse close to Cas’s and reached across to clasp his shoulder warmly. “Take courage, love,” he said, returning his grip to his reins. “You’re about to find out.”


	29. Chapter 29

Cas felt sure he was dreaming, or had left reality in some other way. The hard, bright winter sunlight fell on a scene utterly outside his experience and understanding.

A group of villagers from North Devereaux had arrived to escort them back when they had not appeared in the morning, after Dean had told the tale of their victory over the dragon the night before. A handful of them rode donkeys or plow horses; most went on foot, and one proud man with only one patch on his warm winter clothes rode an actual riding horse—perhaps the only one in the village, and Cas was no horseman, but he guessed the creature’s age was measured in decades. Ahead of them all rode Dean on Impala, and the contrast of his tall, handsome figure on the beautiful war horse, her tack polished to a bright gleam and ribbons braided into her mane, made the whole scene even more surreal. Young girls wore ribbons in their hair and danced before Sam and Cas as they formed up with the group, casting bits of colored cloth in their path. Cas supposed this was because flowers were impossible at this time of year. The awkward band, consisting of four mismatched pipe and horn players and a drummer with one stick, seemed to know only one song, and they struck it up anew and rather frantically when Cas and Sam rode into sight.

Sam seemed to be taking it all in stride; he was all graciousness, and Cas was sure he was the only one who knew he was on the edge of laughter. He received the formally-phrased speech from the man on the riding horse (the mayor, Cas learned, and therefore Sam’s direct deputy in this place) humbly and respectfully. At his request, and with cheeky, grinning encouragement from Dean, Sam (shooting Dean a dirty look under his arm as he opened his pack) brought out the dragon’s claw and held it up for the crowd. People gasped at the size of it, and a ragged cheer went up. A young man actually leaped into the air as he cheered.

The joy and relief buoyed Cas up even as the strangeness of the spectacle and the people, here at the edge of the world, confounded him. He learned that everyone, except the very elderly or infirm and one woman with a new infant, had come to greet them. This motley group of patched, ragged people was all there was of this village, and this village was all there was of civilization in this whole frozen corner of the world.

After his bewilderment passed, Cas was warmed and humbled by their attention. Dean had told the whole (highly embellished) tale of their defeat of the dragon, and he was repeating it now, with corrections by Sam that emphasized Cas’s role and diminished his own. Cas grew increasingly uncomfortable under the admiring stares of the village folk. The young women were particularly attentive, and after they reached the little inn of the village, many of them brought little gifts for him and Sam.

Cas watched Sam’s response to the gifts and learned that grave acceptance was the correct response. The young women blushed and giggled after Sam spoke to them, and gradually Cas recognized that they responded in much the same way to him, which he found very strange. Sam, noble and handsome, a prince of the realm—it made sense that they would react to him much as Cas had before he’d known him, but when he exclaimed in genuine delight over the gift of a beautifully knitted scarf of soft lamb’s wool, cleverly shaped so that it could be used as a hood, he was puzzled when the girl who offered it nearly wept at his praise.

“I… you must have worked so much on this. Perhaps it is too much,” Cas said gently, but the girl was already backing away hastily.

“I hope it keeps you warm all the way back to old Winchester, sir!” she shouted over her shoulder, and fled the room, heading for the kitchen of the inn. 

Cas did not know whether it was the level of the girl’s emotion, or the unearned title of _sir_ that disturbed him most. Flustered, he looked around for Sam, to see if this reaction was normal. He was across the room, smiling and speaking gently to a crowd of mostly female admirers, and Cas couldn’t catch his eye.

“You get used to it,” said a voice at his elbow. It was Dean, who plunked a tankard of ale in front of Cas. “Sam and I have been getting this since we were in our teens. He takes it a lot better these days, I see. Does every female under forty in Old Winchester still cherish dreams of marrying him?”

Cas eyed the ale, clearly intended for him, before answering. “Um… well, yes,” he said.

“Half of ‘em will shift to you when you get back, I would guess. You don’t like ale.” 

The last was not really a question, but Cas responded anxiously, “I… I thank you for it—”

Dean grabbed the tankard and slid it over next to his own. “More for me, but nonetheless. Don’t think I’m not buying a drink for the man who saved my brother’s life. Hey, Mitzy.” His voice turned honeyed as he flagged down a barmaid, who immediately turned to him, rather starry eyed.

“Lord Dean,” she said in a caressing tone, waving the towel she’d been wiping a table with. “Anything I can do for the prince of the realm?” She sauntered over, putting an extra sway in her hips, and gave a mocking half-curtsy when she reached them.

Dean grinned and winked broadly. “If you hadn’t gotten married even before I did, there’d be plenty of services we could render each other,” he said, seizing her hand and kissing it.

She chuckled, snatching her hand away, and swatted him playfully with the towel. “Oh, you and your talk. What do you want?”

Cas was appalled, and thought surely Dean must be deeply offended at the lack of respect she showed his office. Dean’s contentment only seemed to increase the less respectful Mitzy became.

“My friend and great hero of the realm, here, doesn’t care for ale. Forgive him, he’s young and ignorant,” Dean said, and Mitzy giggled. “Have you got something he might like? I owe him a drink.”

Cas shrank as she turned her attention to him—if her flirting extended to him, he had no idea how to respond—but her manner changed abruptly even before Dean finished speaking. 

“Darling,” she cooed maternally, leaning over to squeeze Cas’s shoulder, “anything our little town has to offer is yours. We can’t grow grapes up here, and by this time of year we’ve no wine left from what we traded for, but we have the finest apples in the realm in my opinion. We’ve some cider that’s sweet and not too strong, my own recipe, and of course I made an apple bake as soon as I heard our heroes were returning.” She poked Cas’s ribs. “You look like you could use a slice or two. How does that sound?”

“It… sounds wonderful, mistress,” said Cas hesitantly. “But I don’t wish to put you to any trouble.”

She snorted. “Trouble! The _dragon_ put us to a lot of trouble.” She patted Cas quickly, with warm affection, but as if she hoped he and everyone else wouldn’t notice. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He brought her the promised cider and apple bake, and she and others kept bringing him treats and tidbits until he thought he’d burst. He was asked for tales of the dragon battle long after he ran out of anything to tell, even with Dean’s truth-skimming prompting. It felt good to be admired, yet… false, somehow. They didn’t know he was just a peasant… though there was something in him that argued with him about that now, a constant low-level struggle between the parts of himself that left him exhausted…

“Lad can’t hold his cider.” Dean’s wry voice came to him through warm, dim clouds, and he realized he’d fallen asleep at the table, moments after trying to answer the questions of a little fellow of six or so about what a dragon’s wings looked like and whether you could really see light through them.

“It’s not that,” came Sam’s voice, slightly sharp. “He’s not well still from the battle. We must retire—he will need some days of rest before we return to Old Winchester, so I fear you’ll have to listen to my brother’s boasts for some time yet…”

Several sets of hands were helping Cas to his feet; to his surprise, he could distinguish the energy of Sam’s among them, and leaned gratefully into them. He vaguely heard Sam telling the village people—of all things among Dean’s embellishments and his own concealment—more or less the truth, that he had come but lately into his magic, and expended too much. Murmurs of sympathy and apologies for taxing him followed him down a narrow hall of old, grayed wood, falling away gradually until he and Sam were alone. The tiny room with one bed, a small table with an oil lamp, and a washbasin seemed luxurious, especially as he crawled onto the soft, well-stuffed tick clad in clean, worn-smooth sheets. Grateful for all of this and for silence, solitude, and Sam’s embrace as he settled in beside him, he fell instantly, deeply asleep.

* * *

He woke late the following morning, and was alarmed to hear he’d slept through Mitzy bringing breakfast to their room. He felt a twinge of guilt; he ought to have gone down and helped her prepare it, and served his lord himself… but no. That was his old life. He was the one being served now, for the first time in his life, and Sam and Dean kept insisting he accept it, and that all the accolades and gifts were only his due, and he tried, but it felt terribly strange.

Sam ordered him to do nothing but rest and recover for three days. Mitzy seemed obsessed with feeding him, finding out which foods he preferred and going to great lengths to prepare them. Just as he had done for Sam when he first knew him, and continued to do when he could. He told Mitzy much more about how Sam liked his food and coffee and baths, how he liked his clothes laundered and what among his things needed mending, than he said about his own preferences. It was natural that Sam should have things as he preferred them, but what did it matter whether Cas liked apples in his porridge or not?

Thinking this after Mitzy had brought them breakfast and interrogated him, he looked up to see Sam frowning vaguely in his direction.

“What’s wrong, lord? Do you not care for the food?” 

In his role as Sam’s squire while they were in the village, Cas had slipped back into old habits of address, and Sam had accepted this, but now his frown deepened.

“The food is fine. For me. How is it for you?” Sam’s tone, normally solicitous and caressing whenever they were alone, was now snappish.

Cas shrank a little. “It’s very good,” he said at length.

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry, Cas. Do you know, before she started quizzing you about it, Mitzy asked _me_ what she should fix for you? And I couldn’t answer, because I have no idea what you like.”

“I… why does that matter, Sam?” He sensed some of what was wrong, if not all of it, and knew that calling Sam lord had not helped.

“That you would say that is exactly the problem. Cas…” Sam crossed the room and knelt next to Cas’s chair, taking his hand. “I love you. I’m grateful to you for my life. You are a hero both to me and these village folk. But I didn’t even know if you liked tea or coffee. I can barely tell whether _you_ know it. I... I should know. I let you serve me all this time, and it took Mitzy worrying over you being thin for me to realize how much I didn’t know. We may have to play that you’re my squire, Cas, but… just as much as you have always wanted good things for me, not because you wanted to serve me but because you love me, I want those things for you. And I hate myself for not knowing.”

“Don’t, Sam!” Cas clasped Sam’s hands. “It’s not your fault. You’re right that I don’t even know that much of what I prefer. I… I have never had a chance to give it much thought, and that is because of my own choices. I chose my path years ago, and there was no room in it to think about the choice between tea and coffee. I was so grateful just to have a _place_ at Old Winchester—somewhere to sleep, food to eat and clothes to wear—”

“You shouldn’t have to be grateful! And it was even Ylsa who gave you those things, not me!” Sam was distraught, and a heaviness hung on him that had been absent since the death of the dragon.

“You have no sway over my life before I met you, nor over the choices I made in how to live,” said Cas. “Ylsa gave me those material things, but under your authority, and it was you who gave me what I truly needed—belonging and love, and work that I was called to do. I don’t just mean serving you,” he said quickly, when Sam scowled and opened his mouth to protest. “I mean all of it. Becoming a… whatever I am becoming, and being with you. I serve not just you, but Lawrence. And something higher.”

Sam sighed, got to his feet, and pulled a chair over to sit next to him. “I still want to know what you like, and help you get those things. I especially think _you_ should know.”

Cas smiled. He thought a moment. “I don’t really like either tea or coffee,” he said. “When there’s any, I like milk with breakfast. Goat’s milk especially.”

“Really?” Sam chuckled. “I _hate_ goat’s milk.”

“I know,” said Cas.

* * *

The next morning, there was a small cup of goat’s milk on Cas’s tray. “You should’ve told me,” Mitzy said, grinning flirtatiously at him as she set up his food. “Winifred has an old nanny that’s the wonder of the village. She gives milk year round, even if it ain’t much at this season. We’ll get you fed up yet.”

She turned to Sam, grinning. “You too, dragon-slayer,” she said, adding dried berries of the kind Sam liked to his porridge. “We can’t have a prince of the realm going around with cheekbones like knife blades.” She winked at him and left.

“She doesn’t know that never goes away,” Cas said dryly, and he couldn’t help smiling when Sam put his hand to his cheek suddenly. 

He leaned over, pulling Sam’s hand away, and kissed his cheekbone. “I like them that way,” he said.

Sam smiled, and drew Cas onto his lap. “Now I know two things you like,” he murmured, kissing Cas’s neck and running his hand under his shirt.

“Mmm… there’s a couple more right there,” Cas said, turning to meet another kiss.

Sam sat forward and pushed Cas gently toward the bed, following and laying him down. He crawled on top of him.

“Let’s count them all,” he murmured against Cas’s lips.


	30. Chapter 30

Cas’s strength grew steadily in the days he spent in Devereaux. He soon became restless with inactivity, and after Mitzy kicked him out of the inn’s kitchen when he hesitantly came there and asked if he could help her, Sam resumed their magic and archery lessons. The magic was surprisingly easy. Once he got used to some of the strange feelings that magic use brought, Cas was no longer dazzled by it. The buzzing strength that moved from his mind into his blood came to feel utterly natural, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to call upon it. He took such delight in starting the fires at the inn that Mitzy laughed, and called him to do it whenever he was in the inn before mealtimes.

Archery and magic seemed to go together even better for Cas than for Sam, by Sam’s own admission. “I had to practice the bow with no magic for a year after my power came in before I could use them together,” Sam told him, and Cas flushed at the warmth in his voice. “And that was after years of archery practice.”

“Maybe that’s why, lord,” Cas ventured. Many folk of the village turned out in the inn’s yard to watch their lessons, so Cas had slipped back into formal address. Acting as a squire required no effort at all, even if Sam sometimes frowned at his deference. “You had already learned so much about the bow that changing the way you used it was harder.”

“That could be it,” Sam said comfortably. He lowered his voice. “Or it could be that you have a much more powerful magic gift than I, so its use comes very naturally.” He looked around to see how closely they were observed, then murmured even lower. “We should take care, Cas, and not display your gifts too openly here, if you truly wish to… keep something back.”

Cas nodded, and after that, tried to focus on the purely material fundamentals of archery when they practiced publicly. 

After a day or two of observing these lessons, Dean announced that he would give Cas lessons in the sword. Cas was leery of his offer at first, but Sam commented that Dean was better with the sword than he was, and Dean turned out to be a good teacher. He was more patient than Cas expected, and the physical activity felt surprisingly good. Dean encouraged Cas to learn some of the ways of battle magic, explaining that this use of magic was not very visible to outsiders, but could strengthen his arm and improve his speed without anyone knowing how. Cas quickly found a level of comfort with sword-fighting that he never expected. He would never be a true swordsman, he felt, but he could fight with Sam if needed, and defend his realm should he be called to do so. 

One evening, he had trained with both brothers all day, even working with the horses to learn this last knightly skill, and found he was only pleasantly tired when they stopped for supper. He had not fallen abruptly asleep after training for days. As he reflected on this while cleaning Blue’s tack, he realized both brothers were rather quiet, until Sam said, “It’s time.”

Dean nodded over Impala’s back. “I’ve gotta get back to Lisa and Ben, but these roads are still dangerous. We should travel together. Old Winchester isn’t much out of my way.”

“We’d better give the villagers a day to fuss over us leaving, and the horses some rest since we worked them hard today,” Sam said. “We’ll leave at dawn day after tomorrow.”

* * *

It was hard to part with the folk of Devereaux, but Cas found that his tentative new friendship with Mitzy made him miss Ylsa. Though his home and heart were wherever Sam was, he was a little homesick for Old Winchester, and Sam and Dean seemed to feel the same. As they prepared to travel the next day, packing generous gifts of food and clothing from the villagers, the brothers started reminiscing about their youth, with Dean asking about various older denizens of Old Winchester, whether they were still there and what they were doing now. It seemed to trouble Sam that Cas was better able to answer these inquiries than he was.

“I don’t even know my own people,” he said quietly to Cas, while Dean got in some last-minute ale and flirting after supper. “I… I must get to know them again. They have served me so well, and I hardly noticed, I was so… whatever I was when you met me, Cas.”

Sam was quiet for a while as they returned to their room and finished packing their bags. Cas knew something was on his mind, and waited patiently for him to reveal it. 

At length, he said, “Cas. I… I’ve been thinking about Ylsa.”

Cas waited a moment to see if Sam would say more, then said, “Me too. She has been very kind to me, and I have missed her.”

Sam nodded slowly, then said, “To me as well, for much of my life. Kinder than I deserve, and… I have begun to feel that deficit. Since the war, I… have barely spoken to her. I know it hurts her, though I thought I was doing her a kindness. I did not want to lay a burden of darkness on her. But now…”

He sighed, and sat down on the bed next to Cas. Instinctively, Cas took his hand in both of his and squeezed it. Sam gave a small half-smile, and squeezed back.

“Cas,” he said. “It took me too long to tell you what I had to tell you. I should not have kept the truth from you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Sam,” Cas said, leaning to embrace him. “I cannot imagine having such a burden to bear. I was grateful when you chose to share it with me, but…. I understood. I don’t know what I would have done in your place. I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to bear it. So few people could, I am sure—you are the strongest man I know of.”

Sam shook his head mutely. He held Cas close for a moment. “Strong, or a coward? I cannot be sure. Perhaps it was only… underestimating others.

“With the curse, and... what I did to Aury.” Sam paused a long moment. Cas recognized the darkness of that memory. Before the dragon it had poured from Sam, a teeming, smothering blackness that threatened to cover the world and raze all in its path. Now it was a shadow, chilling, dimming Sam’s light… but like a shadow, it passed, and Sam spoke again. 

“I believed I held a truth too terrible to bear. It held sway over everything. I could not speak it to you. For months I… hurt you, used you, held back from you, even when I knew. I knew you loved me, and I you, and that this love was an offer of salvation. I would not take it, and I would not give you that truth, for I didn’t know. I…” He paused and touched Cas’s face gently. “I should have known I could trust you. Because I could not bear the truth, I was sure you could not. I didn’t know you were so much stronger in the ways of truth than I. And perhaps… so is Ylsa.”

Cas did not know what to say. He wanted to object to the pain of Sam’s words, to the aggrandizement of himself and the dishonor implied about Sam, but he could feel the truth of them, so he merely held Sam and waited.

“I must tell her,” Sam said bluntly. “What happened to her son. All that was between us, and what came of it. I didn’t want to. I wanted to let her… have a hero’s death for Aury. It was more that than cowardice, I swear. It hurts, the idea of her knowing my great shame, earning her hatred. But more than that, I don’t want to increase her grief. The truth is, Aury was a hero many times over. He saved my life more than once, and the lives of the citizens of Lawrence.

“The knights told Ylsa how bravely he fought. It was Rufus who told her of his death—I don’t even know if he believes what he said, or how much of the truth he knew. Some of it was true. He told her that the remnants of the demon army remained out in the dark, preying upon soldiers whenever they were separated from their ranks, that Aury bravely stood the dangerous watches late in the night. He made it sound… like Aury went down fighting to save the other knights, and I wish… I wish that were true. I wish he had had a chance to fight one last time. He did not even know he was about to die.”

Cas squeezed Sam tightly. He wanted so badly to comfort him, but knew he must not stop the flow of words, now that it was finally started.

“It is a terrible truth,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps what she had of Rufus is better. Perhaps it is unkind to tell her; that is what I told myself all these years. But I never… faced her. She has been like a mother to me, and I turned away because I did not deserve it of her, and that is still true, that I don’t. But it’s not about what I deserve. It’s about what _she_ does. She deserves the truth, from me, as the person who loved her son most after her. She deserves to know… the loving intent of her son’s last moments, even though they meant his death.

“If she hates and reviles me, so be it. There is still a wound in her heart over Aury, and... what you taught me, Cas, with your acceptance of all I told you, is that the truth is all that can heal some wounds. No matter how unbearable it seems.”

Cas nodded, gazing up into Sam’s face. After a long silence, he simply said, “I love you.”

Sam’s face cracked into a sweet, sad smile. He rested his forehead against Cas’s. “That is my favorite truth of all,” he said.

* * *

The folk of Devereaux turned out at dawn to see them off. Cas watched Sam talk quietly to a group of teary young women, squeezing a hand here and offering a kind smile there. He was given more gifts of food for breakfast than he could eat, and one girl ran to the inn’s kitchen to wrap up the rest for him to put in his saddlebags, when Cas noticed there was one girl standing apart from the rest, clutching a pot. It was Lila, the girl who’d knitted a scarf for him.

He caught her eye and smiled at her, fingering the scarf, which was the finest warm garment he owned, to show her that he wore it. Her face lit up immediately and she came over to him.

He was dismayed, as she drew close, to see that she was weeping. She was the youngest of the group of girls who often gathered at the inn at supper time, looking at him, Dean and Sam and whispering together, and he had often noticed her sitting apart from them. His face creased in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he said when she reached him, and at the same moment she said, “I have a gift for you.”

“Another one? What you’ve already given me is so fine,” Cas said, troubled. Devereaux was not a rich village.

“I didn’t know you would leave so soon,” she said. “I… I wish I could go to Old Winchester. When you are a knight, I would… I would make favors for you.”

Cas’s eyes widened. Lila was saying, essentially, that she wanted Cas to court her, that she would give him a kerchief or scarf to wear in tournaments that showed he rode in her favor. It had never crossed his mind that he would _truly_ be a knight in such a way, and he was very startled, but Sam had told him to expect overtures like this from young women, and he recalled Sophie’s actions right before they left Old Winchester. He did not know Lila as well, but he had heard Sam’s response to many such statements from young ladies, and now carefully crafted his response.

“Any knight would be proud to wear so lovely a lady’s favor,” he said gravely. “I could never hope to earn such an honor.”

She gulped down a sob as her tears began to flow more freely, but straightened her spine at his words. “This is sweet condensed goat’s milk,” she said, thrusting the little sealed pot at him. “Winifred’s my nana, and I milk the goats. I saved this for you since you like it. It’s good with sweetbreads or… or in tea.” She wept openly as Cas took the pot, thanking her gravely, and finally threw her arms around him, squeezed once, and fled before Cas could react.

Mitzy hugged him too, and the little lad who’d asked so many questions about the dragon came and hugged his legs and chattered until his mother came to herd him away. They mounted their horses—the pack mule was carrying twice as much now, but it was well-fed to make up for it—and waved to the crowd. Sam spoke to the mayor while Dean exchanged some final innuendos with Mitzy, whose husband stood near trying not to scowl. As they began to move away, Cas spotted Lila, plucked his scarf off, and waved it at her, crying, “Goodbye, Lila. I will be warm all the way to Old Winchester!”

Her brightening face as they trotted away was worth Dean’s relentless teasing, which began as soon as they rounded a bend out of sight and continued until the sun was high. Sam smiled warmly at him through all of Dean’s mockery, and Cas knew that he understood.

They were quiet all that afternoon, the heartache of leaving such a place of welcome and love seeping over them as the world grew cold and grey on their road. But Cas thought of Old Winchester at the end of it, and his heart was full.


	31. Chapter 31

There was more snow on their way back to Old Winchester, but it was less cold than the journey north had been.

Dean was eager to help cleanse the lands they rode through. If there were sign of a troll or a dire wolf pack, he insisted they pursue it, and Sam seemed glad of it. The two of them were almost frighteningly efficient at hunting evil things—with signs imperceptible to Cas, they teamed up to fight so well that Cas hardly ever felt the danger. He tried to help with his newfound skills, and once when they flushed a pack of seven dire wolves, he managed to take one down with two shots from his bow. He looked up from his kill to find that Sam and Dean had neatly dispatched the other six; Dean was cleaning his blade, and Sam was remounting Upstart by the time Cas had even looked around to see if anyone had witnessed his triumph.

Sam caught his eye as he got back on Blue, much more slowly than either of the brothers. “Good job, Cas,” he said. “A clean kill.”

“Yeah, you’ll be ready for real battle soon,” Dean said, nodding at him.

“Because a dragon isn’t real battle?” Sam said bitingly. 

Dean only shrugged, but smiled at Cas. “We’ve been doing this together a long time, lad,” he said. “Don’t judge yourself against us.”

Well-supplied and with Dean providing jolly companionship, the days passed quickly, and even with these stops to dispatch monsters, they soon drew close to Old Winchester.

Cas’s heart lightened at the thought of returning to Ylsa, and home—a place he had begun to feel he could be accepted as himself. But he felt a vague unease when they rode into more familiar lands. The sense of portent suddenly sharpened when he caught the first distant gleams of the green-brown walls of home, but he still knew of nothing he had to dread.

Well, he supposed he dreaded his identity being revealed. He had discussed it with Sam and Dean some days after they left Devereaux, and they had agreed not to speak of it to anyone until Cas was ready. Both, each in his way, had warned him such a secret could not be kept forever.

“I’ll want to tell Ylsa,” Cas told Sam one night when Dean had gone to collect firewood. “It wouldn’t be fair to keep another secret from her, when she was so hurt the last time I did.”

Sam nodded and said nothing. Pain stole over his features.

“I’m sorry!” Cas said immediately. He moved close to put his arms around Sam. “I didn’t think. I know you wish to speak to her… are you dreading it?”

“Terribly, but also I’m eager to get it over with,” Sam answered, leaning into his embrace. “If I have the courage, I will do it as soon as may be. I’ve waited nearly six years; no sense in putting it off longer.”

* * * 

Their homecoming welcome was more casual than the efforts of North Devereaux’s citizens, as the folk of Old Winchester were well-accustomed to heroes. The knights seemed to take Sam’s contribution as to be expected, but were duly impressed with Cas’s, accepting his magic awakening (what they knew of it) and his training to be one of them with little comment. Cas knew some among them, mostly the younger ones who had known little of the war, were uncomfortable with Sam and Cas’s relationship, but the older ones kept them in check with sharp words if they ever spoke of it.

Ylsa happily embraced them, including Dean, though she immediately followed it with a lecture about how he’d better not “distract” the working maids of Old Winchester, and instructed him on the behavior expected from a married lord at some length. To Cas’s surprise, Dean merely listened gravely and assented to most of what she said, making only one or two “saucy” comments that got him swatted.

Sam was troubled as soon as he caught sight of Ylsa coming to greet them, and looked especially pained by her warm embrace, which he ended as soon as he could. She seemed to find nothing amiss in this until Sam took her aside while Sophie chatted happily with Cas and Dean, praising their deeds. Cas watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. He bent, grave-faced, to speak in Ylsa's ear.

“Come to tea tomorrow then,” she said, cheerfully enough, but with a slight frown as if she were out of her depth. “Sophie and I have enough to do right now, with a welcome feast we weren’t expecting. But I can remember a young lord-to-be in my kitchen often enough, charming me out of a slice of bread with my berry preserves…”

Dean laughed and bantered with her about days gone by, but Sam, looking as dark and grave as he ever did these days, left the kitchen abruptly. Cas watched Ylsa for a moment before he followed, hoping that her bright, merry demeanor would not soon be dimmed indefinitely.

Sam spoke little that night. Cas knew why, but he hoped being back in Old Winchester was not sinking him back into his old, grim ways. He offered what comfort he could, and Sam took it, clinging to him and loving him desperately.

The next day, at tea time, Sam headed for the kitchen. “Will you… come by in an hour or so?” Sam said. “Just in case she wants someone to talk to who isn’t me. And make sure Sophie knows not to come until supper time.”

Cas obeyed, and as he came down the kitchen hallway, hesitating at the doorway, Sam came out, looking somber, and Ylsa scurried out soon after. She ran past Cas without a word, and her silence, broken by the click of a door gently closed, was worse than weeping or wailing. The hallway was terribly still.

“Well… I’ve told her everything,” said Sam. “Best tell Sophie not to expect her for supper… or perhaps tomorrow.”

“I will return to the kitchens to help. Sophie cannot do so much alone.”

Sam frowned. “It sits ill with me, Cas, to have the hero of our days, and the most royal personage of all Lawrence, working in the kitchens.”

Cas flushed deeply. “I… no one knows yet, and… it is work that needs doing.” Back at Old Winchester, Cas had slipped into his old role easily. “I am glad to serve.”

In fact, Ylsa did not come out of her quarters for three days. The second evening, Cas brought a tray of supper to her door, knocked a long time and entreated her to come out, if only to eat. She didn’t answer, but the tray was gone when Cas came by the next morning, so he left another for breakfast, which disappeared as well.

When Cas came to the kitchen to prepare supper the third day, she was there. Cas did not know what to say to her, so he simply greeted her gently and began peeling potatoes. Sophie arrived soon with a basket of produce from the market, and, staring wide-eyed from Cas to Ylsa a few times, meekly joined the preparations without a word, until Ylsa turned to Cas.

“Thank you, lad,” she said calmly, taking the bowl of sliced potatoes from him. Her eyes were very red. “Sophie and I can manage supper. Run along.”

“I…are you… well, Ylsa?” Cas asked awkwardly.

She managed a smile and patted his arm warmly. “Well enough. This is my work to do, lad, and it’s time I got back to it. You may tell our lord I won’t shirk.”

“He knows it. He would never expect… he… Ylsa…”

Ylsa set down the bowl and hugged Cas tightly. He leaned into her with relief. After a moment, she said, “It’s a dark world at times, this. But there are good things, too. I’m still here, and you and our lord returned safe and victorious, and Lord Dean is here, and Old Winchester is as happy as it’s been since before the war. What right have I to be sad, or angry, with all that?”

“Every right,” Cas answered immediately. “More right than almost anyone, but I am glad if you are not.”

Ylsa gazed at him a moment. Cas was distressed to see that she looked older, her face thinner, and her reddened eyes held a distance he had never seen there. Tears welled in his eyes as she touched his face.

“As I’ve said before, our lord has a heavy load to carry. I… always said I would help him carry it if I could. What he’s given me… well, it was hard to take on. He said… he said he thought, all these years, that it would not be kind to tell me, and I told him it wasn’t and that I wished he hadn’t. I said other, less kind things as well. But I didn’t mean them. Will you tell him I didn’t, lad? I can’t speak to him yet. I’m still finding a way to carry it.”

Cas nodded, taking her hand as she withdrew it from his face. Overcome with emotion and unsure how to express it, he held it to his cheek and kissed it. She gave him a sad smile.

“I tried to teach my son, and our lord for that matter, what was right,” she said. “I’ve got no right to spout nonsense if I can’t live by it. I always told Aury that if he told me the truth—the whole truth, mind you—I wouldn’t punish him as hard for his orneriness. He was as ornery as they come, that boy. But he was honest. I never thought honest could be such a hard thing, but I’ll live by it, hard or not. And… I’ll learn to feel grateful to our lord again. But not right now, Cas. I just… need to be let be for a bit.”

“I’ll tell him. You know he is grateful to you, too, don’t you?”

“He said so, before he told me about Aury. He never said such things before. I should have known something awful would chase it. But… through it all, lad, I can see he’s different now. Different even from before the two of you left, and I don’t think killing the dragon is all of it. You’ve helped him, changed him. Sometime I’d like to hear how.”

“I want to tell you. There is much to say, and it is not dark and terrible like what you have heard already, but I waited to tell you until our lord had spoken. It is… a big thing for me, and something I don’t wish widely known yet, but I want to keep no secrets from you, Ylsa. I hated it when I had to before. So when you are ready, we must talk, too.”

“Let’s leave it for another day, lad. Right now I’ve supper to get. Off with you, then. Don’t trouble yourself about a silly old woman.”

“That is not what you are, and it will always be my privilege to trouble myself about you,” Cas said. He kissed her cheek and left.

* * * 

Sam’s mood lightened day by day after that. What Cas told him of Ylsa’s response helped considerably. “It’s better than I could have hoped for,” he said. “I was afraid she’d leave Old Winchester.”

“I don’t think she ever would,” said Cas. “She still has people in South Campbell—her late brother’s daughters, likely with families of their own now. But when I asked her about it, when I first came here, she said it was a long way to go for people who might barely remember her, and that she has people who care about her right here at home.”

“I hope she knows I’m one of them,” said Sam.

“I will make sure she remembers it,” Cas answered.

They had been in Old Winchester less than a week, and were at sword practice with the knights, led by Lord Dean, when a rider came in from the guard post and signaled for Sam’s attention. Cas followed him to speak with him.

“There is a regiment of riders coming up from the south, spotted by our outliers,” the man said. “Ten or more. They are flying no colors, but are well-arrayed. Not bandits, and riding openly, but no one seems to know who they might be. There are several women, lord, all in armor, and the messenger said some of them looked foreign.”

“Did he have anything more specific than that?” Sam asked.

“No, lord, only that they were very fair, with golden hair.”

“Well, there are many such in the capitol, but I suppose it sounds a bit like North Kingdom folk,” Sam said doubtfully. “Send a rider out to greet them, and ask if they… seek audience with me?” He glanced at Cas, who nodded. This was the proper response, even if it was to something that never happened at Old Winchester. 

Sam glanced at Cas as the guard rode away. “Maybe they’re looking for Dean, to get the ear of the king? But it’s a long way to ride from just about anywhere, for that. Even if they knew he was here.”

“Knew who was here?” said Dean, wiping sweat from his brow as he sheathed his sword and joined them.

Sam explained the situation to him as Cas gazed after the guard, thinking. This was the feeling—what he had seen coming, somehow, when they returned to Old Winchester. It did not feel frightening, exactly, but… significant. A harbinger of great change, and this filled Cas with unease; he was not sure how much more change he could take.

“Let’s go out to greet them,” Sam was saying, and Cas’s insides stirred nervously, but he mounted Blue and followed the lords to the guard post. They could see the group of riders drawing close, and suddenly, one spurred her horse into a gallop. Another rider, apparently the leader, belatedly spurred her horse to follow. Sam sat forward tensely, and Dean drew his sword, when the first horse skidded to a stop right next to Cas on Blue. Cas regarded her as a shock went through him—of recognition, but he had surely never seen this woman before. Of fear, but also… relief, somehow? Confused, he could only stare. She was beautiful, tall and regal with blonde hair streaming behind her, her fair skin gleaming in the winter sunlight, and she called out, “This is he! He is the one, my flame!”

The leader of the regiment pulled up then and plucked off her helm. Bright red hair spilled out of it, and Sam and Dean, in chorus, shouted, _“Charlie?”_


	32. Chapter 32

Cas stared, dazzled. Here was another great hero of the Demon Wars, in the flesh, but next to her… Cas did not know who the golden-haired, rather wild-looking woman was, but she caused a strange thrum in his blood and an urgent signaling, something that of late, he had identified as the voice of his magic, heard more often in his dreams, strange and unsettling while he was waking. It was saying something he interpreted vaguely as, _Here. Here. This. Her._

He became aware that there was a startled silence for a moment as Dame Charlie regarded him rather piercingly, then turned to answer Sam and Dean’s startled greeting.

“Ho, Winchesters,” she said. “Both of you, huh? I thought you were off making future monarchs.” She nodded to Dean.

“Lisa’s taking care of that at the moment. It was just getting a bit difficult for her to ride, so I left her at the Citadel with Ben, who’s learning some magic from Bobby.”

“Better him than me,” said Charlie. “He’s a dragon when it comes to technique.” She gave Dean a knowing smile; Sam gave her a startled frown that she did not see as she turned to the golden-haired woman, who was still staring disconcertingly at Cas. Cas was staring back helplessly. All the courtesies he had learned for greeting a noble lady had gone straight out of his head.

“This is my lady, Gilda,” said Charlie. “And you?” She said this last to Cas, and when he, still dazed, didn’t immediately answer, turned to Sam. “Who’s the magic boy?”

A ripple went through the guards and knights who had joined Sam, Dean and Cas as they rode out to greet the strangers. Sam’s eyes widened before he answered.

“Um, this is Castiel. He’s my… a knight in training.” When Charlie just looked at him, clearly expecting more, he straightened his back. He eyed one of the younger guards who was standing near him and shifting uncomfortably. “And my lover,” he added then, in a clear, slightly raised voice.

Another ripple went through the group, and through Charlie’s entourage as well, who had ridden at a more sedate pace to join them. There were many wild-looking women among them, many with golden hair, and a few men of similar mien.

Charlie nodded at Sam as if satisfied. She cleared her throat then, and sidled her horse closer to Gilda’s. She seemed to be trying to get Gilda’s attention, or break into the tableau between her and Cas, but the two were oblivious, still caught in each other’s gaze. At the same moment, Charlie and Sam both frowned.

Sam tore his eyes from Cas and returned them to Charlie. “You’re welcome at Old Winchester, of course,” Sam said, “but I wasn’t expecting you. I’ve never seen you so far north before, even for our tournament.”

“Wouldn’t be fair for me to knock all your northern lads down for you,” Charlie said easily. “There are plenty of southern knights for me to pummel if I’ve a mind. But Gilda and her people, what remains of them,” she gestured around the group, “have been this far north and a lot further. As for why I’m here, exactly—well, I’m still waiting for Gilda to answer that. She rousted us out of Bradbury Vale some weeks ago and insisted we ride north at speed.”

Charlie shook her head, and Gilda, who seemed to be coming out of her daze, smiled warmly at her. Charlie’s frustrated expression melted into affection. “Whenever anyone asked what she was looking for, she said she would know it when she found it. I thought it might be a short ride—we stopped at the Bastion and rode through the city to some merchant’s house. He received us cordially enough, introducing us to his fatuous sons, but Gilda had no use for him. She just said, ‘He’s not here anymore,’ and rode away before the merchant had even stopped talking.”

Cas, listening as he came out of his strange stupor, stiffened and felt the blood leave his face. He looked at Sam, stricken.

Gilda spoke at last. “I felt this one’s magic awaken,” she said softly, gesturing to Cas. “I am sorry for any rudeness, my flame and lords of Old Winchester.” Her voice was flavored with an accent unlike any Cas had ever heard, thick and soft-edged, blurring the words. She bowed in her saddle to Cas, then turned her horse and bowed to Sam and Dean. “I am Gilda of Nevatna, lady of Dame Charlie. These are my people, all who remain of our corner of what you call the North Kingdom. My lady took us into her Vale, and we are grateful. But the lands there are warm and gentle, and our blood grows slow and tired there. I… had to ride north. And this one… is the reason why, though I do not yet understand it.”

She nodded at Cas, and tried to catch his eye, but Cas avoided it, afraid he would be caught again in the vortex of her gaze. He was looking desperately to Sam for help. He still could not speak; it was hard to even sit his horse with this strange energy thrumming through him. Blue felt it, and was twitching, shaking his head so his harness jingled.

Sam and Dean were communicating silently. Dean cleared his throat. “Let’s take this inside. You must be tired from your long ride. Sam has plenty of room in the noble’s wing for guests. We’ll see you all settled, then we can talk.” He turned his horse toward the stables and eyed one of the guards, who nodded and galloped ahead, to warn Renard of equine guests.

“Dame Jody rode north after the war,” Sam was saying to Gilda. “I… am sorry to say she found little but death. You have likely heard of her journey.”

“We all have,” said Gilda. “And we were saddened, but not caught unawares. We knew the scourge of the demons for years before you did. There were none among the nobility of our people left to thank you properly for ending it, Lord Sam.” She bowed gracefully in her saddle again. “We know the debt we owe, and to whom.”

Sam tried to hide a scowl; his face twitched. “You owe me nothing,” he said curtly, then softened his voice. “I am honored to have such visitors. Castiel and I, and Lord Dean, just returned from a journey north, as far north as our kingdom now extends. The empty lands there are much on my mind… perhaps they are on yours as well, and there is something that may come of it?”

“Perhaps,” said Gilda. She was looking at Cas again, which again brought out identical frowns on Sam and Charlie.

Cas had still not spoken a word, and did not even when they had left the horses with Renard and settled in the sitting room of the largest vacant noble’s suite. Ylsa brought them a tea tray and promised a good supper soon. Unintimidated as always, she spoke warm words of welcome to both Charlie and Gilda. On her way out, she paused and squeezed Cas’s shoulder. “You all right, lad?” she whispered, glancing at Sam and flinching slightly when he met her eyes.

Cas took a deep breath, feeling like he was surfacing from deep water. Ylsa’s touch had brought him out of it. “Yes… thank you, Ylsa. I… I can help with supper…” Escape to the kitchens suddenly appealed to him intensely.

 

Ylsa was shaking her head even as Sam said, “We need you here, Cas. Thanks for the refreshments, Ylsa.”

Ylsa squeezed Cas’s shoulder again, nodded, and left.

Cas’s heart beat wildly. It was all he could do to remain in his seat and not run out after Ylsa—go back to scrubbing pots and cutting vegetables and sleeping in his little alcove, and never think of dragons or magic or dynasties because they were no part of his world. He felt an inexplicable longing to go to the market and search for the berries Sam liked. He would stroll back alone in the winter sunlight on the quiet village path, carrying his basket of produce, and Ylsa would tell him to get inside before his bones froze, and would make him eat soup before they started to make supper…

“Cas. Cas!”

He started. Sam had been calling him. It was so hard to look at him—harder to look at Gilda whose gaze he could feel, trying to peel him open.

He sat up straight and looked deferentially at Sam. He made a little bow from his chair. “Yes, lord. My apologies. How may I serve?”

These were the words that came to him, easily as breathing, but once out they seemed wrong somehow. The voice of his magic made all other voices, even his own, muffled and distant.  Sam looked confused, hurt even, and was that a flash of fear in his eyes?

He looked away from Sam and caught Dean’s eye, who frowned at him. “What ails the lad?” Dean asked Sam. “He was well enough for sword practice this morning…”

Sam stood up. “Ladies,” he said. He gave a short bow, which made Cas blink. Sam did not bow… did he? It was what he, Cas, should be doing…

“May we have a moment?” Sam continued. “I fear Cas is not well. He is only recently returned to strength from a long illness.” He had walked to Cas’s chair and took hold of his arm. “Come, lad,” he said gently. “Let us speak in the other room.”

“I fear it is my presence that is… distasteful to him,” said Gilda. She was gazing at Cas uncertainly. There was a trace of sorrow on her beautiful features.

Sam bowed again. “I am certain that is not true,” said Sam, and there was a slight edge to his voice that Cas did not understand. “We only require a moment. I’ll help Castiel recover while Dean and Charlie catch up—please call for a servant if you lack anything.”

He urged Cas out of his chair. Cas rose obediently and walked mechanically, following the draw of Sam’s arm. Sam took him from the little guest audience chamber into one of the bedrooms of the suite. He set Cas down on the edge of the bed and sat next to him. There was a moment of silence.

Out of Gilda’s presence, Cas’s daze began to clear somewhat. His veins still buzzed with magic, but a flood of remorse washed over him. What had he been saying, doing, even _thinking_?  His heart ached. “I am sorry… Sam,” he said softly, and as the name passed over his lips, tears rushed up in his eyes and spilled over; he choked back a sob.

Sam’s face creased. “What on earth is _wrong,_ Cas?” He put his arm around Cas—a bit stiffly, Cas thought, and this made him weep harder, until Sam finally folded him close and the stiffness dissolved.

“I’m sorry,” Cas choked again.

“Why?” Sam asked softly. Cas rested against his chest. He stroked his hair. “You have done no wrong that I know of. Do you… plan to?” There was pain in his voice, and that terrible confusion Cas knew he had caused, though he was unsure why.

Cas was startled by the question. “No, I… what? I only meant… I know I am behaving strangely, and I don’t understand it either, and I wanted to run away, with Ylsa, and be a servant again. I don’t want these ladies to know what I am, but they do. Or Lady Gilda does, and she… she met my family, and she, I, my magic wants something, and it is so loud…”

Sam held him tightly, rubbing his back. It helped Cas breathe. After a moment, Sam said, “It wants something, but you do not? You don’t… want her?”

Cas considered the question for a moment before Sam’s meaning struck him.  “ _No!_ ” he cried, startled. “No, I… I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, my heart is yours! You know that… don’t you?”

“The two of you were looking at each other a long time,” Sam said quietly. Cas could hear him trying to control his voice, whether to keep out anger or pain, he did not know. “Gazing like… love-struck youths in a bard’s tale. Charlie saw it, too…”

Cas was trying to breathe and look past the flood of emotion and confusion. He thought of his interactions with Gilda so far, and it struck him, what Sam was saying, how it must have looked. To his own relief and Sam’s, he laughed finally. It broke the tension in the room; he felt Sam relax slightly.

“Oh, my love,” Cas said, squeezing Sam tightly. “I… I see, but it was not that. I am sorry to make you fear… I could never love anyone but you, and it did not cross my mind that you would think that. I am quite sure it did not cross Lady Gilda’s either.”

Sam sighed, relieved. He squeezed Cas. “If not that, then what?”

Cas thought a moment. “For some days now, I have been feeling… something coming, a change. As I said, my magic has been speaking, and I could not understand it, it was not words, just a feeling. And I had dreams… of healing, as I have often, but more. There were… there was family. Our family? And… she was there, I think. Because our magic… it is the same. Not in ability, perhaps, but in affinity, and it wants… more of itself. We _recognized_ each other. It was not… attraction. Not of the kind you mean. I could not feel that for her, nor her for me, I am sure. I was frightened, Sam. I do not want everything to change, and when Dame Charlie called me a magic boy…”

Sam sighed. “Yes, that caused a stir. I don’t know what will come of it. We can ask our visitors to be discreet, but…” He shook his head. “Leave it to Charlie… she dislikes secrets, as I’ve said. And your gift… for those who have eyes to see it, it _blazes_ sometimes, and it did when Charlie and Gilda showed up. So did Gilda’s. She must have a powerful gift indeed.”

Sam cleared his throat, and looked down at Cas in his arms. “She is also… very beautiful,” he said, hesitantly. “I thought… well, you have not been with a woman, and what if you had just never met one who suited you? That’s what Aury believed, you know. That he was only going to be with a man until the right woman came along. And he never got to find out whether he was right or not.”

“Did _you_ find her beautiful? In that way?” Cas’s voice came out sharper than he intended and he found that he was clutching Sam rather hard.

Sam chuckled softly. “You forget. I _have_ been with women—enough to know that the loveliest among them hold no appeal for me in that way. You hold all of those cards,” he said, turning Cas in his arms to kiss him. “You are all that I want, and I know… I know your heart, and that you feel the same, but when you looked at her that way, I remembered how young you are. Sometimes I wonder if I have corrupted you terribly… the things I’ve done to you…”

A memory of old darkness crossed over his face, and Cas sat up and kissed him fiercely, determined to drive it away. “I love all the things you’ve done to me and with me, and I want to do them all again, with you and no one else,” he said. “I am old enough to know my heart. And the only feelings of this kind I have ever felt have been for men.”

Sam nodded, and the darkness cleared. “All right. If you are not planning on running away with Charlie’s lady, I suppose the next step is to find out what this magical affinity is. Let’s rejoin the ladies, if you’re all right now.”

They rose and walked to the door. “I am. I am sorry for my behavior—”

A feminine shout interrupted them, loud and sudden when Sam opened the thick door. “You want to have his _babies?”_

It was Charlie. She was standing, shouting, while Gilda sat, struggling to remain composed. They both looked up when the door opened, and Gilda flushed deeply. Even Charlie looked chagrined. She dropped her arms that had been gesticulating wildly, and sat down hard, avoiding Sam and Cas’s eyes. There was a strained silence.

“Well,” she said, turning back to them and sitting up straight. “Gilda just explained why we’re here.”

 


	33. Chapter 33

Cas could not close his mouth. He gaped at Charlie. Sam, when he glanced at him for reassurance, wore a carefully calm expression, but he too was stunned silent. No one said anything for a long moment, and Cas was stealing a careful glance at Gilda when she started at the sound of the suite door banging open.

Dean came in with a bottle of wine and several glasses on a tray. Ylsa was unlikely to serve wine at tea time, but Dean had no such hesitation, apparently. He glanced around at the startled tableau. “What’d I miss?” he asked jauntily. 

No one answered him as he set down the tray. He glanced at Sam and said, “The big revelation, I take it. I could tell the ladies needed to talk, too, so I excused myself. Well?” He gestured between Cas and Gilda. “What is it? I could see it wasn’t actually that you two were instantly, magically in love, though Charlie seemed worried about that.” He picked up a sandwich from the tray Ylsa had left and began eating.

Gilda sat up straight. The blaze of color was fading from her cheeks. “I am sorry to cause such upset,” she said, her accent thicker than ever. “It is not—or was not—the same in our land as it is here, regarding these matters. It would not be such a great shock.”

“What wouldn’t?” Dean asked, chewing noisily. Cas had the incongruous thought that Ylsa would scold him for his manners.

“That I wish to bear Castiel’s children,” she answered, carefully and clearly. She avoided Charlie’s eye. Charlie stared down at the carpet, and Cas, watching her anxiously, thought she might be blinking back tears.

“Ah,” said Dean calmly. He nodded. “Makes sense. I’ve heard about you North Kingdom folk. I, um, knew a few ladies, when I was out near the north islands during the war. Sam and I were stationed separately, so he doesn’t get it.”

“Get what?” Sam looked genuinely confused.

“We don’t form the same kinds of attachments—marriages—that the folk of Lawrence do,” said Gilda. “We do not lie about it. We may have a great love—one we cherish above all others, for life.” She was looking at Charlie, trying to catch her eye. Charlie didn’t look up, but her expression softened. “But loving outside it—or bearing children outside it—is not as it is here, fraught with pain and this concept of possession.”

“Gilda likes both,” Charlie interjected suddenly. “Men and women. That’s why I don’t… I mean, when Sam asked me, I didn’t think it would be a betrayal of anything, if we had a baby. Because neither of us—it wouldn’t be like that for us.”

“Well, would it be for Gilda and Cas?” Dean asked sensibly. “As far as I can tell, not on his side, for sure. Lad never even glances at a lass, even when she’s fawning over him.”

“Gilda likes Cas,” said Charlie. There was an edge of misery in her voice. “Thinks he’s handsome and all.”

“He _is_ handsome,” said Gilda. “I do not understand why it hurts you, or lessens my love in any way—I have told you I will cleave to you always.”

Charlie did not answer, but softened further. She kept glancing at Cas uncertainly. He could not yet meet her eyes.

The feeling had gone from Cas’s legs when he sat down, rather abruptly, after the revelation. It began to return now, as dreams he’d had, and the portentous _tugging_ feeling he’d had for many days, began to make sense. Gilda must have more experience in interpreting the voice of magic, and because her culture had different beliefs, she was not shocked as he was. 

Now he began to speak to himself pragmatically. Lawrence needed children with magical abilities, and the Winchester lords had made it clear that Cas should consider procreation his duty. He had rather come to terms with the idea, though he had not given much thought to the act that would create them—and such duties had seemed far off and abstract. Now here was the most magical person he had ever met, eager to have his children and implying that doing so would be of no affront to anyone…

“Well? Could you do it? And could you let him?” Dean said, speaking first to Cas and then turning to Sam.

“Delicate as always, I see, Winchester,” said Charlie.

“You know me. All those diplomacy lessons paying off like Father would want,” Dean answered dryly.

There was a silence. Sam broke it after a moment.

“Thank you for telling me of your customs,” he said formally to Gilda. “I had heard of some from Dean but… the way in which he speaks of these matters is not always… reliable.”

“You mean, when he tells tales about tumbling two women at once, is it any more reliable than what he tells women he has in his trousers?” said Charlie .

“Hey, I’m accurate,” said Dean. “Is it my fault that the truth intimidates?”

Gilda was smiling, Sam was laughing, and Cas began to relax. They could talk about this, miraculously.

“Anyway,” Sam asserted, grinning at Gilda, “I understand things are different in the north. So you could have Cas’s child, and not be married, or be married to someone not him, and suffer no censure?”

“Yes,” Gilda answered, seeming relieved that someone comprehended her. At times she seemed to be listening hard; her command of their language was not perfect. “In fact children are quite often conceived this way, particularly in magic families. We bond where our hearts are, but have children with those to whom our magic calls us. Sometimes it is a cooler-headed decision; not everyone has magic that speaks. But when it does, it is always obeyed, unless one of the parties does not wish for a child.”

“Is there a spell that makes the act… unnecessary?” Sam asked. He still did not look entirely at ease, though he seemed more comfortable than Charlie.

Gilda seemed confused. Charlie exchanged a few words with her in a different language that held the same rich, soft sounds Gilda spoke with. Finally Charlie answered. “Nope,” she said, with a bit of an edge in her voice. “Apparently her folk have never had need of such a spell. As far as our kingdom’s magic goes, there are surefire fertility spells, and spells to make twins more likely, but none to get the… essence of a man into a woman without the sex act.”

“Why would we have such,” asked Gilda, “when our bodies work so well as they are made for this purpose?”

“Don’t you have men who… have trouble, even if they like women? Or have men who don’t like women?” asked Sam.

Gilda seemed more at ease with this question, though her answer made all the men in the room somewhat uncomfortable. “Yes, we have such—both men who cannot rise and men who cannot do so for a woman, who only desire other men. And yes, there is a spell to make a man perform, and make him virile—” 

“What am I supposed to do?” Charlie snapped. “Go take one of Sam’s pretty horses for a nice canter while you… let some sweaty man get on you?”

“Cas isn’t sweaty,” Sam said mildly.

“I was going to say,” Gilda continued with dignity, “that I have never known a pair who had to use such a spell. We have other ways, rituals whose only magic is… calling upon the magic inherent in our bodies, in acts of love. And I certainly would not wish you to go horseback riding, my flame, but would want you there with me, as Lord Sam would be with Castiel.”

 _“What?”_ said two or three voices in chorus.

Gilda looked around at them all, and when no one volunteered anything further, she continued. “Well,” she said, “how it is usually done—if the couple who wishes to make children are both bonded elsewhere, or their interests lay elsewhere, each brings her lover, or more than one, and they love together as they would alone, until the exchange is ready to be made. And the lovers, in our case, would exchange partners in time to plant the seed in—in me.”

“Whoa… wait—what?” said Charlie. Cas could feel himself blazing scarlet. Sam’s eyes were wide. Even Dean’s cheeks were a bit pink.

“I feel like, as a married man, I’m getting myself in trouble even listening to this,” he said.

“Charlie and Lord Sam would not have to join if they did not wish it,” Gilda said, as if this answered everyone’s concerns. 

Sam and Charlie both laughed nervously, but Cas found himself oddly comforted. He spoke up at last. “So… we would not be alone together, to make the child?” he asked Gilda hesitantly. “And Sam could…” He flushed furiously. “Could… help me?”

“Help,” murmured Gilda thoughtfully, and Cas cringed in embarrassment. “Yes, as I hope my lady would help me, though I do not find the idea of your attentions unpleasant, as you might find mine.”

“OK,” said Dean, standing up abruptly and breaking a short, bemused silence. “I don’t think you all need me for this discussion. I’ll excuse myself.” He seemed caught between a cheeky grin and deep discomfort, and he bowed to the company—the first bow Cas had seen him make—and exited the suite hastily.

“This… this is just…” Charlie was pacing the suite, her flame-like hair bouncing behind her. Cas suddenly understood Gilda’s nickname for her. “I mean, putting aside the… bed stuff,” she said. “Are we ready for this? I know you said you wanted to have children, and soon, but… I never thought about how, I guess. And I wish I’d known that was what we rode the whole length of Lawrence for.”

“I told you as soon as I was sure,” said Gilda gently. She seemed to vacillate between hope and sadness. “I would not willingly hurt you,” she said. “I have tried to understand your ways…”

“I know. I know,” said Charlie, coming to sit beside her and clasp her hand. “And now it’s my turn to learn more about yours and accept them. I… well, I consider myself… open-minded. I just thought my days of being so open were behind me, and that it would be just you and I, together until death.”

“It will always be you and I together, but for a few brief moments that are for a purpose other than love,” answered Gilda. “But it is done as it is so that all children, even those produced for the sake of magic, may be conceived in the love of our bodies and hearts.”

Cas was surprised to find that he felt rather more relaxed about this than he had expected—more than anyone, perhaps, except Gilda. He looked at Sam.

“My lord?” he said softly. 

Sam seemed lost in thought. He looked down at Cas then and smiled faintly. “I had not thought this time would come so soon, but our world—indeed, both our kingdoms—” 

“If anything could be said to remain of mine,” Gilda murmured sadly.

“—have need of increase in the magic lines sooner than later. Is this how the magic works? The kind that speaks? Mine has never been so eloquent, though I have heard tales of others who followed its voice.”

“Particularly in the Edlund line,” said Charlie. She was looking intently at Cas, who started at the name. “Yes, lad. I just figured out who you are. Only that would be strong enough to call Gilda, I think. Her gift is dazzling. I thought no one left in Lawrence had one as bright, but yours… so. Old Carver had a son after all.”

Sam stood up abruptly. “Cas,” he said sharply. Cas looked at him, startled. “I… I believe I understand something now.”

“What, my lord?”

Sam glanced at Charlie. “Cas isn’t too happy about his father,” Sam said. “Those fatuous merchants that you met? The father was a cuckold because of Prince Carver. The sons are Cas’s half-brothers, all older. Cas was not pleased to think he was the product of some cad who fathered a child on a married matron who had seven children already, then left her to deal with the social consequences of bearing a bastard.”

“I can’t imagine why that wouldn’t appeal to you,” said Charlie, with a kind smile for Cas. Cas felt an unclenching in his chest as he felt that Charlie did not seem to dislike him. “But what are you thinking, Sam?”

“Oh!” said Gilda. She too was gazing at Cas.

“I think,” Sam continued gently, taking Cas’s hand, “that we’re seeing the tale of Cas’s conception play out again between him and Gilda. You wondered how your mother could betray her husband, Cas, and how Prince Carver could be so callous and irresponsible. Perhaps it was just the opposite.”

“Perhaps,” Gilda continued, “the prince knew that you must be born, and that your mother was the one who could give him such a child. The only woman who could.”

“But,” Cas stammered, “my mother was of utterly common stock. A peasant, and she had no magic, not even a wild, minor gift.”

“Are you sure she didn’t?” asked Charlie. “Many among the peasantry hide it, you know, especially women who’ve no witches in the family to bring them along. A peasant man would not likely marry a woman with a gift if it’s considered taboo or unlucky where he lives. As indeed it is in most places and families. Your mother may have had no choice but to hide her gift, if it ever even fully manifested. Sometimes it dies out if it isn’t nurtured when it awakens.”

Sam was the one now pacing the room. “Yes!” he said. “It all fits. Cas, if your mother had been born a boy… the sad truth is, a boy among the peasantry with a gift could be discovered and recruited into the military, even when your mother was young. Magic was taboo still, but there were always those among the minor nobility and warrior classes who sought it out in young lads, and that was always an option for them. A good thing, too—we would surely have been defeated when the demons came, were it not so.” Charlie was nodding, and Gilda was staring at Cas intently. “But a girl is expected to marry well, out of a peasant family. Which your mother did,” Sam said. “She married up. And if she had a latent or hidden gift…” 

“Prince Carver would have been called by it,” Charlie continued. “He… they felt you coming, lad.” She smiled at Cas. “Well? Isn’t it nice to know there was a reason you were born? We don’t all receive that message so clearly.”

“He has already had great stake in saving the future of Lawrence,” said Sam. “We haven’t had time for tales yet, Charlie, but Cas saved my life—healed me from the brink of death, in fact, and because of him a terrible demon dragon was slain—”

“ _You_ slew it,” Cas said. He squirmed under everyone’s attention. “But I… but why—my mother never told me, or even acknowledged that my—that her husband was not my father. She… didn’t act as though she thought I had noble blood, or magic. She let me go to _service_ academy.”

“Did she know you wanted to serve at Old Winchester?” Sam asked shrewdly.

Cas blinked, bewildered for a moment. “Yes,” he said, finally. “She did. After I told my family where I wanted to go, she made sure her husband agreed to it, and supported me through it.”

Charlie and Sam were both nodding. “She made sure you found your way to the most magical place left in all of Lawrence,” Charlie said.

“Whether she knew it or not, or was acting on instinct,” Sam continued, “she made sure that when your magic awakened, you would be in a place where it would be accepted and nurtured.”

“I knew I wanted to come here—I’ve wished to since my own magic awakened,” said Charlie. “If I hadn’t been lucky enough to know a knight who would train a girl, even before my gift awoke—and I was expecting mine, mind you. If it hadn’t been for that, having a gift in the south would have been no easy path to walk.”

Sam was smiling at Cas, who sat still, stunned. “But everyone knows,” said Sam, squeezing Cas’s hand, “Old Winchester is the place for magic.”

“Half of the milkmaids and shepherds here have gifts, it seems to me,” Charlie said. “As were riding through the homesteads and farms, on our way in, it was like watching fireflies wink on in the summer twilight. All the sparks of magic—I never saw so many at once.”

“Nor I,” said Gilda. “Not since our own lands came under siege when I was a girl.” She turned abruptly to Charlie. “My flame,” she said, with an air of great importance. Charlie stilled, and looked at her expectantly. “Do… do you like this place?”

“Umm… well, we just rode in, but…” Charlie hesitated, but as she reflected, she smiled. “I do,” she said. “As I said, I always dreamed of coming here, and it’s even better than I imagined.”

“And my lord,” Gilda said, with a seated bow to Sam, “You wish for the lands here to become more peopled?”

“I do,” said Sam cautiously, tilting his head at her.

“Then if we may,” said Gilda. “I… wish that we would stay, and dwell here, my flame. I will bear Castiel’s children, if he is willing, and raise them here among others of magic, that our descendants may marry and carry the magic forward. And perhaps one day, when some years have passed and enough magic is born, we may go north again, and take back the lands of our ancestors.”

There were tears in Gilda’s eyes, and Sam was sitting forward, his eyes eagerly alight. “You would be most welcome here, children or no,” he said. His voice vibrated with excitement. “I will not conceal from you… it is what I have always wanted. More folk in Old Winchester, to return it to its glory days, and to see the lands north restored. Our kingdom or yours, it makes no matter to me. It might to my father, but when Dean takes the throne…” 

He paused. “Cas, love,” he said softly. “You haven’t said much. Nothing will be decided for you, you know. If you don’t want—”

“I do,” Cas said abruptly. Beneath his bewilderment and fears, his veins had been singing _yes_ all through him. The more that was said, the more certain he felt, and he realized his heart was as sure as his magic. “I want it. I want children, and...” He turned to Gilda. “If you would do me the great honor, my lady,” he said, standing and bowing formally to her. “And if you, Dame Charlie, have no objections. I would ask that we do this thing, and though I know it is much to ask, I… have seen it, in my dreams. I would like you to do the spell that makes twins. And Sam and I—I would like us to raise one of them. This time. And in the future, perhaps more.”

Sam’s eyebrows had climbed to his hairline. Charlie looked no less surprised. After a moment, she cleared her throat.

“Well,” she said. “When I was heating up rabbit stew for breakfast in our camp this morning, I couldn’t have imagined this would be how this day would end, but—” She looked at Sam, who was nodding dazedly. “I think this calls for a toast.” She opened the bottle of wine Dean had brought and poured four glasses, passing them around. 

She raised her glass. “To the magical future of Winchester and the North,” she said, and touched her glass to Cas’s.


	34. Chapter 34

No more was said about procreation, with the understanding that Gilda and Charlie should settle in and everyone should become better acquainted before they approached it. In the days that followed, Old Winchester happily hosted its exotic guests. Gilda’s people were very popular among the knights and other villagers. Pairings sprung up within days of the arrival feast, and though the ways of the Northern folk caused some upset and romantic sparring at first, it settled into happy cultural interchange soon enough. Gilda’s folk were excited to meet so many magically gifted folk, and the magical among them taught and learned many new spells. The air was full of enchantment, which had some unexpected consequences for Cas.

When they learned that Cas did not want his parentage known yet, Gilda and Charlie had explained the need for discretion about the extent of Cas’s magic to their people. The tale of Charlie calling Cas a magic boy had spread, though, and the prevalence of magic and talk about it seemed to have stirred suspicion in the knights and other folk. Cas did not practice magic publically, but everywhere he went, he felt lingering, speculative stares directed at him. He realized he had better have a talk with Ylsa before the rumors revealed the secret he did not wish to keep from her.

“You’ll want to give me your news now, I expect,” she said, setting down a tea tray on the table in the kitchen. She had seemed almost to be expecting him when Cas came and suggested they have tea together.

“Yes,” Cas answered. “So much has happened since we returned that I did not expect, like these visitors. I didn’t mean to leave this news for so long… but are you well, Ylsa?”

He did not need to say that he wanted to know if she was well since Sam’s news. “Yes, lad,” she said, smiling serenely. “I just had to feel everything I couldn’t feel back then, when the war ended and Aury died. Our lord is a good man, and more has happened to him than any person could be expected to bear without breaking. I still feel sad and angry sometimes, but I’m glad to be at Old Winchester. Gladder still that you came here, and glad of our guests, too. Does what you need to say have to do with them?”

“Well… I guess it does, now,” said Cas. “I… you know that my magic gift has awoken. I did not expect anything like that of course, but… you also know that I am a bastard, do you not?”

“It’s an ugly word, and I don’t see the need for it,” Ylsa answered. “But yes, I know it.”

“I found out—Lords Sam and Dean figured out—who my father was,” he said in a rush. “I… it was—it’s hard to say it. You may have heard rumors that my gift is very powerful.”

“I have heard that, yes,” Ylsa said. Her words were gentle and incurious, and she met his eyes kindly and openly, with no expectation. Cas knew that she was waiting patiently for him to find his own way to what he needed to say.

“My… my father…” He stammered as heat rushed to his face. How could he claim, to the woman who took him in when he did not have a coin in his pocket nor even shoes on his feet, that he was _royal?_ But he knew that it was time he learned to live with this truth.

“He was Prince Carver. Edlund,” he said, in a small voice. “I… I could not accept it at first. I thought surely the lords were mistaken. But I… can feel it inside me. Out of kindness to me, Lord Sam has not told the whole story of the battle with the dragon yet. I… he was sorely wounded, Ylsa. Mortally. I thought the dragon had killed him; it pierced him through with its claws. The ground was soaked with his blood. I could not let him die. I tried the healing spell I’d seen him do, and… it worked.”

Ylsa was leaning forward, listening intently. Awe stole across her face. “Oh, my, lad,” she whispered.

Cas flushed further. “It seems impossible. But… but it must be so. They say—the lords, and now Dame Charlie—that there is no one else it could have been. My father. So… so now you know,” he finished awkwardly.

She smiled warmly at him, reaching across the table to push his hair out of his face and pat his cheek. “This has been quite a year for you, hasn’t it, lad?”

Cas laughed, relieved and highly amused at once. “I’d say that’s an understatement,” he said. “I could never have foreseen one thing that happened in that time—including finding you, that you took me in and were so kind to me. You took a chance on a ragamuffin lad at your kitchen door—”

“And he turned out to be a prince!” Ylsa finished gleefully. “Sounds like a bard’s tale, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Cas admitted. “I still wish, sometimes, that I could go back to being your kitchen lad. I… I don’t know what I will do instead, Ylsa. I don’t know what will happen.”

“None of us do,” said Ylsa kindly. “At your age, even less so. Not knowing your future comes with the territory—kitchen lad or prince, it makes no matter.”

“One might even argue that kitchen lads have a little more say in the matter than princes.”

“That’s so,” said Ylsa. “But what you want must surely enter into it, especially as Lord Sam will have something to say on the matter.”

Cas nodded. There was a silence. Finally, Ylsa said, “You said it had to do with our visitors.”

“Oh! That part is…” Cas felt himself turn redder than ever. He could not continue. Ylsa waited a moment, then stood up to put the kettle back on the stove, making inconsequential comments about the tea and cakes, and the apple crop this year, until Cas had recovered a little. She sat back down, pouring more tea.

“The Winchester lords feel that it is important that… the Edlund line of magic not die out in the world,” he said, and Ylsa nodded.

“And that’s why Lady Gilda likes you so much,” Ylsa continued calmly.

“Yes.” Cas forced the next words out before he could trip himself up again. “She wishes to bear my children, and… and Sam and Charlie have agreed to it, and they will stay here at Old Winchester. I will be a father, Ylsa,” he said, the last words coming out half-unwilling. “But I don’t know how to do it—any part of it. I want to. I have seen it in dreams—our family—and the lords and ladies, they say these dreams are true. From magic.”

“Well, I expect you can trust what they say about that,” said Ylsa. “I think it’s sensible, to make sure that magic lives on. And Old Winchester is the right place for it.”

“That’s what Dame Charlie says.”

Ylsa nodded. “She is wise, that one. I suppose she’s a bit wild yet, to be saddled with babies. Does she want to bear any of her own?”

“I think she does, one day,” Cas answered. “Gilda will most likely bear twins, and perhaps that is enough babies to manage. For now”

Ylsa’s matter-of-fact manner eased Cas’s heart. He stole a glance at her; she met his eye and smiled kindly. He sighed.

“It will be nice to have babies about the place again,” she mused. “You say you don’t know anything about them… Marda knows all there is to know; she had six of her own and has a passel of grandbabies, though most of them have moved away to Singer or Campbell. But I can teach you a few things, too. As long as I’m not the one who has to stay up all night with a wailing babe who’s teething.”

She grinned at his quick assurances, and said nothing more for a few minutes, getting up to take biscuits out of the oven. She set a few on their tea tray and buttered one for herself and on for Cas. The homey scents of baking and the quiet of Ylsa kitchen calmed Cas. He ate the steaming-fresh biscuit, thinking of the day he’d first eaten Ylsa’s cooking, wolf-hungry and destitute, how she had given her this kind quietude then as now.

“It’s good to empty yourself of secrets, isn’t it?” Ylsa said after a moment. “Being who we are is so much lighter.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “As a merchant’s son, generally disdained but well-enough cared for growing up, I never thought to hold so many secrets. But even my parentage was one… and one I must keep at least a little longer, I think. Our lords are still not sure what will happen when the king finds out. He may still try to insist that I marry a noblewoman and take a title, move to the capitol perhaps. I wish only to stay here and live much as I have done.”

“Well, lad, I don’t know how well that will work, but the knights are the ones most likely to see it in you, and they are discreet enough. If our lord orders them not to speak of what they know, they won’t.”

“I just… don’t know how to be Carver Edlund’s son,” said Cas softly.

Ylsa smiled at him, buttering another biscuit and setting it on his plate. “You just be Castiel,” she said. “That’s all you ever need to be.”

* * *

Cas still worried about the necessity of coupling with Gilda. He talked a great deal with Sam about how it would happen, and Sam promised to guide him through it.

“I think what would make it easier is if you know Gilda a little,” Sam said. “Spend some time talking to her. I can be with you, or not, as you choose. You don’t dislike her, do you?”

“No, I like her very well… until I remember that I’m supposed to father a child on her, and then she seems terrifying. I must tell her… that she is beautiful and I have great admiration for her. What she said about me finding her attentions unpleasant—that has been weighing on my mind. I would not have her believing this. I hope she understands that it is nothing about her—it is only that I cannot think of anyone but you that way.”

Sam caressed his shoulders lazily. They lay in bed, tucked close together after earlier lovemaking. “I need all the reassurances of that,” he said softly, “and I think Charlie needs even more from Gilda. So it’s good if we take this slow. But by all means, Cas, you can… pay a little court to Gilda. It is much to ask of a woman, to bear children for us. So we should be sure she is happy and has all she needs.”

“Do you think Dame Charlie will object if I do that?”

“I’ll talk to her. I think she’s settling in all right. She and Dean are good friends. They fight to a draw almost every day, have you seen that? Dean used to beat her, if narrowly, but I think she’ll win a bout any day now. Which would make her the greatest sword-knight in the kingdom, and would surely be some comfort.”

So Cas began giving his attentions to Gilda. He had learned how this was done in service academy—servants were expected to arrange and chaperone meetings between nobles, deliver notes and gifts either openly or discreetly, and know the etiquette of courtship. Most of these rituals did not feel natural to Cas, as he was not actually courting her, so he just brought Gilda pleasant things to eat, which he baked for her in Ylsa’s kitchen and brought her at tea time, engaging her in talk. Much as he had done with Sam, he learned what she liked, and she always thanked him gravely for his efforts. Soon he lost his fear of her, and escorted her on walks when the days were not too cold, though she seemed to crave the cold winds of Winchester winter. Sometimes Sam or Charlie or both of them joined them, and sometimes the two of them walked alone. Their talk soon turned to magic.

Gilda’s sadness about her lost kingdom was great, but it cheered her to talk of its history while she taught Cas spells and explained their origin. She laughed gently at Cas’s story of singeing his eyebrows, and told him of her own misadventures in learning magic as a young woman.

“It was only a few years ago,” she said. “Like you, I came late into my power, because my gift is great. That is one thing that is the same in our two countries. Women get their power earlier, generally. I believe it is because our bodies mature earlier. But mine came when I was seventeen, and it was too late to help much in the war. Our islands had been razed already. I gathered the few of us who escaped the destruction of our towns and got on the one ship the demons hadn’t sunk, because we had a hidden harbor on the emptier side of our island. It was little used, but my grandfather had once had a fishing fleet there, and one grand old ship, with sails set for spellwork, remained. We sailed south as fast as we could. I think the demons don’t know spell-sailing—it was even then, among our people, largely a lost art, so the evil things could not catch us. We sailed past smoke and ruin for many days, leaving the ice behind, and we were nearly starved when we reached the lands of your people. The warmer waters were strange to us—you could be in them for many minutes, without spell-warmth, without freezing! And the lands were we beached our ship were rich and green, and though none among us spoke a word of your language, the people there sheltered us, and when demons came we helped them fight. That was how I met my lady.”

Gilda smiled, the pain and sadness of her people’s dark hours receding. “She rode with her knights into the shore village of Bradbury, and it was like a cleansing fire. My flame, conquering my heart as surely and completely as she conquered our enemies. Demons fell before her like grain before a scythe. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And… she saw me, too.” 

Cas met her eyes and smiled into them. “I know what you mean,” he said, thinking of Sam. Less eloquently than Gilda, hesitantly, he told her how his heart had been Sam’s since he first saw him riding behind his brother, many years before they met, how Sam’s sadness had spoken to him, woken his need to ease it, and to serve his lord and his land. He told her how he had felt compelled to find him, and crossed the world to do so, and how Sam had clearly needed him, too. 

Perhaps after all, they agreed, it was magic, that they had found and recognized each other. Perhaps it was not merely poetry to say that love was the greatest magic. Cas would never have believed he could save Sam, and would never have thought to try, had it not been for love.

“Lord Sam is greatest in magic among your people, then? Or was, before your gift awoke? Tell me what you have learned from him.”

He told her of the healing spell Sam had taught him, and how it had resonated in him like he had always known it. It turned out that it was the only spell Gilda knew of that was exactly the same Lawrence and in the North, and no one in the North knew the meaning of the three spoken syllables, either, or what language they might be.

“They are never uttered outside of using the spell,” said Gilda. “It is a matter of some superstition. We had fewer and fewer practitioners over the centuries who could use it to any great effect, much as in your own kingdom, and it came to be believed that uttering the words anytime but in the greatest need diluted its power each time.”

“Do you believe that?” Cas asked.

“I am not sure,” Gilda answered, “but I never say it.” 

Cas chuckled softly. In that moment, he felt that something clicked. Gilda was his friend. He cared for her, if never in the same way he cared for Sam. Her graceful body held the seed of the future of two kingdoms in it, and he could bring that seed to life. He _wanted_ to. 

She laughed softly, too, the sound like low birdsong, and in her eyes was a touch of the same rapture that had trapped them in each other’s gaze the moment they met. She took his hand. It was warm and soft in Cas’s all the way back to the castle.

* * *

That night, Sam, Cas, Charlie, and Gilda ate dinner together in the ladies’ suite. Dean had chosen to eat with the knights instead. After dessert had been served, Gilda cleared her throat and gave a slight bow to the company.

“My new friends, and my flame,” she said. “I must do the twins spell tonight. I am entering my time of greatest fertility. If I do the spell now, two nights hence will be our moment.”

She sat back down and took Charlie’s hand. Sam took Cas’s. It was a silent pact, a ceremony that echoed the moment to come. Cas leaned against Sam’s embrace even as Charlie put her arms around Gilda, and Cas met Gilda’s eyes and smiled. His fear was gone. All that remained was certainty, and the feeling that the family he had dreamed of, that each of them in this room had longed for in separate ways, had already sprouted, a seed in the earth of friendship and love, about to push itself out of the soil into the sunlight.


	35. Chapter 35

Sam and Cas had spoken at length about what it would be like for both of them when Cas joined with Gilda. Sam had not expressed much jealousy of the time that Cas spent with Gilda; rather he had actively encouraged it. He answered Cas’s tentative, anxious questions about sex with women without hesitation and with reassurance.

After Gilda had announced the timing and all had agreed to it, Cas’s anxiety mostly disappeared. However, Sam’s made an unexpected appearance. He suddenly became rapaciously hungry for Cas’s body and his time. He kept Cas in bed with him for long hours, loving him repeatedly and at length. Cas had absolutely no objections to this and took great pleasure in it, but he started to notice an edge of desperation in Sam, and finally, after many hours of lovemaking Sam had initiated the moment Cas woke in the morning, he spoke to him about it.

Cas was utterly spent after the marathon frenzy, both that morning and the night before, and if the time Sam’s breathing took to return to normal were any indication, he must feel similar. Cas squirmed in Sam’s tight grip until he was face to face with him. Sam instantly began caressing him and kissed him urgently. When, to Cas’s surprise, he began to grope between Cas’s legs again, Cas eased himself away.

“Sam,” he said gently, pulling his hips back. “I… I would speak with you.” 

A bit of fear stole over him—he had never refused Sam’s attentions before, nor wanted to, though he recalled Sam stopping him once in similar fashion, when he had tried to coax him into their bedroll to avoid talking about Cas’s parentage.

Sam only sighed, and stopped his insistent caresses. “Yes,” he said. “I… I’m sorry, Cas; I guess you know why I’m so insatiable.”

“I would always wish to satisfy you,” Cas said. “Do you doubt my love, or… or is it that you do not wish to share my affections?”

“I do not. I wish to possess you utterly. I want no one else to have a glimpse of your beauty, knowledge of your touch, or a moment of your time.” Sam spoke wryly, with a small smile on his face, but Cas felt the truth of the words.

“But it is… foolish, and rather hypocritical, I suppose,” Sam continued. “I am one who asked you to consider such actions in the first place. And I believe in the importance of continuing your line. I even like Gilda, very much, and I know I pushed you toward her, but… but I didn’t know you would like her so much.” He squeezed Cas tightly. “I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool, talking like this.”

“You are not a fool. And I _am_ utterly yours,” Cas answered. “That is all I have ever wanted. You helped me get over my fear and care for the woman who will bear my children—children wanted by everyone involved—and you are very generous with your understanding. I would not do so well in your place, I fear.”

“How so?” asked Sam.

“Do you know, as much as I respect and admire her… it is hard for me to like Dame Charlie.” Cas clutched Sam possessively close. “What if she had accepted your proposal, before I ever found my way to you? Or _after,_ when you already possessed my heart, but still thought to be obedient to your father’s desire for you to marry? Charlie is beautiful, magical, a great warrior, and you were already friends. You have enjoyed sex with women, even. What if it had become a marriage in truth—of your hearts?”

“It never could have, on either side,” Sam answered. He was smiling, and now he laughed softly. “So—you hate the idea of her bearing my children? Or at least the act that would create them?”

“I despise it,” answered Cas. “I am sorry, and I would do my best, but—if that time comes, I doubt I would bear it nearly as well as you have borne me and Gilda. You are not the only one who wishes to possess utterly.”

Sam kissed him then, at length and with intense emotion. “I love you,” he said softly. “And I do know you love me. You have done everything a person could ever do to show it, even when I did not deserve it and rejected it. I hurt you, and you healed me and gave me love in return. I will never deserve you completely.”

“Not true,” Cas murmured, stroking Sam’s hair. “I love you so much it bursts my heart, and that is not even all the love that you deserve. The whole world should love you, but I will not let them. I will try to give you all the love of the world, because I must keep you for myself.”

Sam was laughing as he kissed Cas’s neck and pulled him close. “So be it. We will keep each other. We can be friends to others, and Gilda can have your seed—borrow your body for a little while—but I will keep your heart, and you mine.”

“Forever,” Cas agreed, and they sealed it with a kiss.

* * *

That night, they met at the agreed upon time in the ladies’ suite. Gilda had had the bed removed from one of the rooms, and decorated it in a fashion quite exotic to Cas’s eyes. Everything was low and draped, including the huge feather tick—two or three combined together, Cas guessed—that lay on the floor without a bedstead, so all four of them could lie comfortably on it.

It was a cold day, and the fire had not yet warmed the room. Charlie sat down on the edge of a low divan while Cas and Sam restlessly prowled the room, but Gilda laughed.

“It is still uncomfortable, I see,” she said. “Let us start with some wine and conversation, much as we have been doing these last evenings.”

Cas smiled at her gratefully, and automatically jumped up to serve the wine. He did not care for wine himself, but poured a glass to have something to hold. No one said anything for a few minutes. Charlie downed her glass and poured another. Finally, Gilda spoke again.

“There is a spell—a very gentle one—that enhances sensual feeling and eases worry and inhibitions,” she said.

“Do it,” said Sam and Charlie at once, and Gilda laughed.

“All right,” she said, “but let’s try each being with our loved one for a bit. I can cast the spell as we begin to relax. Sam and Castiel, if you would like to lie on the bed, and my flame, if you would sit next to me…”

Sam and Cas awkwardly removed their shoes and sat on the edge of the huge feather bed. Cas immediately began to feel more at ease—the bed on the floor reminded him of their alcove in the library. The lights dimmed; Gilda must have used her power to lower the lamps set about the room. It was softly low-lit, comfortable and quiet; Cas could hear the crackling of the flames in the fireplace over softly murmured words between the women. He put his arms around Sam, who gratefully crushed him close. After a moment, Sam eased Cas over onto the bed and lay him down. They kissed softly, then more deeply. Cas forgot there was anyone there but Sam, and he felt eagerness rise in him for Sam’s skin against his. As this urge rose, Sam was undressing him. The room was warm now. Cas wriggled out of his trousers as he helped pull Sam’s undershirt off over his head, and Sam’s skin slid against his exquisitely as Cas eagerly caressed him. Between kisses of their own, Cas could hear kissing sounds from across the room, punctuated at length by a soft, feminine moan. To his surprise, as these sounds continued, it aroused him further, and there was a hitch in Sam’s breathing that indicated the same in him.

They had talked the day before about how this should go. Gilda, as the voice of experience and having no fears about the matter, reassured and advised them. “It should be a great pleasure for everyone,” said Gilda. “The only important matter is to save the culmination of Cas’s pleasure for planting his seed in me. The rest of us can take pleasure in each other in myriad ways before Cas and I join.”

Now, as the sensuality in the room grew more intense, Cas took this to mean he would focus on pleasuring Sam. He felt, somehow, that he had never gotten to touch Sam as deeply, explore him as thoroughly as he wanted. Everything was soft and slow. He kissed and tasted every part of Sam’s body, fondling and stroking him until Sam lay pliant beneath him, moaning and writhing. He felt the bed sink softly as it took the weight of the women. The sweet sounds of their pleasure mixed with Sam’s. Hot, warm breath seemed to caress every inch of Cas. He felt Sam, still touching him, still pouring love into him, and there were other hands on his body, kisses from softer mouths caressing his arms and neck. Sam rolled him over, and there was Gilda, resplendent in bliss, and he kissed her. 

She arched to meet him, the soft curves of her body strange to him, but sweet; she was pliant and gentle and welcoming, and Sam was guiding Cas into place, hands on his hips, and suddenly they were joined. Cas felt a flutter of panic, but it seemed far away, then it was gone. Gilda’s wet heat embraced him, but Sam was still there, caressing and guiding him, and Cas moved, carefully at first, until Gilda’s rhythm guided him. Charlie was touching him too, and Gilda embraced him, kissed his shoulders. The erotic air in the room peaked to a nearly painful frenzy. Voices sounded rhythmic cries, climbing toward ecstasy, and Cas realized one of them was his own. Everyone was tangled together, rolling over each other. Sam was on top of Charlie, Cas dimly realized. He heard Charlie cry out sharply, Sam groaned deeply, Gilda was panting and keening softly, and without warning, orgasm seized Cas and violently buckled him. Gilda clenched him with her legs as he plunged deeply into her. 

Kisses and touches were everywhere as Cas’s climax slowly faded. Time passed. Sam was holding him tightly again. Charlie’s hair tickled him as she pressed her head into Gilda’s breast. Gilda clutched Charlie’s fiery head close. Cas could not think where anyone’s flesh began and ended.

Cas thought it would end then, but there was more tangling, more mouths on flesh, and Sam lay him on his belly and slid into him, moving hard inside him as the erotic frenzy in the room continued to build. Gilda’s head was buried between Charlie’s legs. Cries and groans filled the room. Sam was still inside him, but suddenly Cas was inside Gilda again, sandwiched between them, an impossible ecstasy. Charlie was behind Gilda, caressing her, holding her tight, moving her against Cas, who was draped helplessly between them as Sam’s thrusts moved him in her. Charlie kissed Cas, harder than Gilda had, her mouth more demanding. Sam kissed Gilda over Cas’s shoulder. Magic swirled hot and fierce around them; its voice was singing wildly, and when Cas came again, a crashing crescendo shook all four of them, flattening them on the bed with waves of ecstasy.

The air was humid with sensuality, caressing them like another set of hands. Cas hardly knew who he was holding and kissing, but it did not matter. Sam was here with him. Charlie and Gilda were there with each other, and everyone was with everyone, a wondrous tangle of joy such as Cas had never imagined. Jealousy seemed far away, an impossibility in the face of so much pure love.

Gradually, the room cooled. There was untangling. Cas turned to one side, and Sam was there, ready to tuck him close against his chest in the posture they always slept in. Charlie rose briefly from the other side of the bed, grabbed a blanket, and draped it over the three of them before crawling under it herself, back into Gilda’s waiting arms.

Cas slept a little. He woke to soft murmurs of conversation. Sam, listening silently, smiled into his eyes as he opened them. Cas turned toward Gilda, still close on his other side.

His memory of the preceding events was a blur, perhaps because of Gilda’s spell. “Did we, um… did that—”

“Get the job done?” Charlie chimed in. Cas had never seen her so cheerful. “Yep. Twice, if memory serves, which is best to be sure. We, um, also got another job done that I wasn’t really expecting…” She grinned at Sam over Cas’s shoulder. Sam looked a little troubled.

“I didn’t plan that,” Sam said. “Are you… I mean, is it certain? I know you didn’t like the idea of both of you being pregnant at once, because you wanted to be able to care for Gilda and protect her if necessary.”

“It is not certain for either of us for a few days yet,” Gilda said. “Though I will be quite surprised if our union does not bear fruit.” She smiled at Cas. “Charlie’s cycle makes it less certain for her, but in a few days, we will know. I think it is likely that we all have a gift great enough to see the spark of magical life, once it appears. Cas does, for certain, and women with a magical gift tend to be able to see it in themselves even if in no one else.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” said Charlie. Cas held Sam tighter as his anxiety increased. “I don’t mind. Now that we’ve decided for sure to stay at Old Winchester, there is plenty of protection here, surely. I prefer not to need protection, as you know… but I don’t know. Maybe all at once is best. That was unexpected, but everyone had fun, so… might as well get as many magic babies out of it as possible, as Dean likes to say.”

“The spell was a little more powerful than I expected. I… from what I have learned of your culture, I hope it was not upsetting to anyone,” Gilda said.

“ ‘Upsetting’ is not the word I would use,” said Charlie. “Afterward, as we were resting, I thought about it, and the only thing I cared about was that I wasn’t wrong about preferring the ladies. Sam, you’re a good man, and you can hold your own with a man _or_ a woman, clearly. It was great. But I couldn’t have done it without my golden one.” She smiled at Gilda. “And I’m the one who can really get her where she needs to be. Nothing’s changed. I’m sure Cas here feels the same.”

“I do, if I understand you,” Cas said shyly. “It was… well, a moment outside of time, of our lives. I wish only to be with Sam now, and… I am excited to meet my children, and Sam’s if one arrives. If both of you are pregnant, I vow to care for and protect you both, and I will do all in my power to care for the children as well, though I have much to learn about that.”

“I think we’re all starting on the same page in that book,” said Charlie. “I had some younger sisters, but the kids will have to be of an age where I can teach them to ride and fight before I’ll be much help.”

“I know little of children myself, but there is a midwife among my retinue,” said Gilda. “She knows much of babes, and helped a woman of our company give birth back in Bradbury. Now that we are safely settled, I expect there will be much more work for her to do.”

Charlie was looking down at her belly, rubbing it thoughtfully. “Well,” she said, “we’ll see.”

* * *

A few days later, they did see. Sam and Cas walked into the ladies’ suite for tea, and saw them laughing joyously, clinging to each other. Cas saw that a soft, faint light seemed to pulse in their midsections. As Gilda turned to greet him, he saw that the light in her was two soft flames blending together.

Sam stared hard at Charlie, and Cas could see when he saw it. A moment of fear, a growing awe, and finally, a flood of joy broke over him. He whooped and embraced Charlie, lifting her off her feet. Cas went to Gilda and took her hand gently. She smiled into his eyes through the tears in hers.

It was really true. The next harvest season would bring three new babes to Old Winchester.


	36. Chapter 36

Soon after they celebrated Charlie and Gilda’s pregnancies, Dean announced that he must return to Singer Citadel. “I’ve got to get Lisa home while there’s time before _her_ baby comes,” he said. “She wants to have it at the Bastion. Impala will have to cool her heels next to a carriage—we’ll be taking the slow roads home, as comfortable as we can make it for my future queen.” He grinned at them. “I’ll be back sometime next year, to meet my new nieces or nephews, and perhaps I’ll bring their cousins, when the new one is old enough to travel.” The castle and training grounds seemed somber and too quiet for some days after he left. 

A foreshadowing of spring came to Old Winchester. Heavy, wet snow came often but soon melted, lingering only in the blue shadows close to the castle, and as a faint mist of green began to show here and there where the ground was bare, Gilda began to roundly bloom. She was radiantly happy and the picture of health, but Charlie was a different story.

Already a slim woman, Charlie grew thinner than any pregnant woman should be. Cas had noticed it, but Charlie, always glad to coo over Gilda’s belly and hear talk of the progress of Gilda’s pregnancy, quickly changed the subject when asked about her own babe or how she was feeling. 

Sam had gone with a pair of knights on a short hunting trip, to dispatch a troll some of the northern woodsmen had reported. Cas still felt afraid of being parted from him, but he felt keenly his duty to care for the ladies, and Sam left early in the morning and promised to be back by nightfall. 

That afternoon, when Cas brought food to the ladies’ suite, Gilda was there alone.

“My lady,” Cas began. “I must ask you—”

“I am very worried about Charlie,” Gilda interrupted almost sharply. 

She looked up, and Cas saw that she had been crying. He hurried to her side and took her hand.

“She is very ill every morning, and often throughout the day,” Gilda continued. “She hides it from me. She is too thin. She pretends to eat when we take meals together, but there is always much food left on her plate. She will not see Rethka, the midwife, or Old Winchester’s Marda, and she gets angry and says she is fine when I try to speak about it.” 

She squeezed Cas’s hand tightly. “She is not herself. I think she misses Lord Dean,” she continued. “She kept up their sword-bouts until he left, though she had started losing. I… I think it hurts her heart to see that I am so well, and that it is not hard for me, being with child. I was sick in the morning a few times, and I am too tired to ride much, but otherwise I feel much as I always have. I know it is not so for many women.”

Cas was quiet a moment, holding Gilda’s hand. He forced himself to speak a deep fear he had been trying to push away. “Could she lose the baby?”

“I do not know,” said Gilda. A fresh spate of tears spilled over as she spoke. “The spark of life in her is still bright—like those in me, it actually grows brighter each day… but she dims. The babe prospers—Charlie doesn’t. The melancholy is terrible. I believed she was simply unhappy because she didn’t feel well, but—there is something…”

She looked at Cas in alarm. His hand had grown icy in hers and he stared at nothing for a moment, eyes wide.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“I… had a dream,” Cas admitted. He released Gilda’s hand and looked down. “I… I tried to forget it. Gilda, I have not yet learned to tell when my dreams are just dreams, or when they are the voice of magic, but perhaps…”

“What was your dream?”

“I saw Charlie… lying on a bed of shadows. They were moving like snakes all around her, twining in her hair. But the worst of it was that she did not seem to know me. I felt that she hated me; she looked at me with morose, cold anger. I… when I woke, I thought it was because I have always been afraid that she could not bear that I joined with you, that though she has never been unkind, she was jealous and resented me. I thought that was all the dream meant.”

Gilda rose and paced the room. Cas could feel her thinking hard and did not speak. “I do not believe it was a dream,” Gilda said. “Castiel… when Sam returns and can guide you, will you look at Charlie, see if you can help her? She will resist, but I will hold her down myself if I must…”

“Do you mean… try to heal her?” Cas shifted anxiously. “I… can you not do that? You are far more experienced than I, and your gift is nearly as great.”

“No, I cannot. I have strong magic, but no healing gift at all. Did I not tell you? No one left among my people has it. I had heard that Sam was the last among yours—I thought that might be why we were meant to come here, before I met you.”

“I thought it was just the strength of the magic that mattered.” Even as he said it, Cas knew he was wrong—everyone spoke of the healing gift of the Edlund and Campbell lines.

“No, indeed. I can do many things, but I cannot heal.”

“I… I only know the spell Sam showed me,” Cas said. “The one you said should not be spoken except at need. He has said it is the only healing he knows, outside of herbs any village healer can use. It is only for wounds, though. Hurts of weapons.”

Gilda frowned. “Did Lord Sam say that?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. It may be that there is lore he has that I do not, in that great library of his, but before the war, when I was young, I wished to be a scholar, and magic history was a passion of mine. And that is not my understanding of the spell at all. In fact, just the opposite. I understood that it could be _used_ for wounds, but that this was discovered quite by accident, and applying it that way had sporadic effects and could sometimes be little use. Though that was proved untrue, perhaps, by the way you healed Sam of a fatal wound.”

“Perhaps,” said Cas, “but what you say the spell does, how it does not always work—that’s what Sam said of it, too. He thought it was because he did not have enough power for the spell, even though it sometimes worked.”

Cas thought of that moment, the most terrible moment of his life, Sam lying cold beneath his hands, his life soaking into the earth. But then he remembered, more clearly than he usually could, what happened next. “If not for wounds,” he said thoughtfully, “what was the spell designed for?”

“Sickness of the soul,” Gilda answered. “And if it is not just a bad pregnancy… well, it is not. I am sure that it is such sickness that Charlie suffers.”

And Cas understood. That was what he had truly healed in Sam, and perhaps why he had been so drained in doing so. He knew that he had ended Sam’s curse, but now, as he looked back on those moments that came more clearly to him now, he saw what had been threaded all through Sam—an ugly darkness, like the snakes of Charlie’s dream-bed, consuming him, until Cas blasted them with light, and that light joined the brightness of Sam’s soul that had been shadowed since Cas met him.

Before he could say more, there was a brisk knock and the door to the suite opened.

Sam came in, looking calm, but troubled. He nodded to Gilda and came to Cas, kissing him briefly in greeting.

“Was your hunt successful?” Cas asked.

“No,” said Sam, to Cas’s utter surprise. “Or rather… _we_ weren’t successful. Someone killed the thing before we got there.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s possible someone from North Campbell heard about it and headed out days ago, but there is no one local I can think of who could have done it. Whoever did it was a warrior for certain, and handy with a sword. The thing was in pieces. It disturbs me, but there is something that is troubling me much more…” He paused and looked around the room. “Where is Charlie?”

Gilda looked up, worry gathering on her face. “I have not seen her since we woke this morning. Have you not, either?” She turned to Cas as she said it. “I thought she went to eat something in the kitchen; she said she has been doing that for breakfast…”

“She did not, and has not,” said Cas. “I go to the kitchen every morning.” He had been preparing, and helping Ylsa and Sophie prepare, special meals for the ladies. “Ylsa said just this morning that she had not seen Dame Charlie since Lord Dean left.”

There was a silence. Cas did not know how to broach the subject with Sam, to tell him what they already feared about Charlie. He was about to speak when Sam interrupted bluntly.

“It’s my fault,” he said. Cas was startled to see that he looked terribly grim, as he had not since before the dragon. He tried to put his arms around him, but Sam was stiff and unresponsive.

“It’s because of my baby,” said Sam. He looked up at Gilda. “You are well and blooming because it is Cas’s children you carry, and he is good and full of light, and has filled you with it. Charlie is full of darkness because…”

He could not finish, but Cas seized him and shook him a little. Sam looked down at him, startled. Cas did suppose he would never have dared that, before, but he said, “No. _No,_ Sam. It is not so, I would swear it. It is not because of—”

“The curse,” Sam finished. “Is it not? How can you know? If I planted the seed in her…” His face folded in anguish; he hid it in his hands. “She did not even want to be pregnant now…”

“It does not work that way,” said Gilda gently. “Sam, I do not know what curse you speak of, but you are under none that I can see, and my vision is clear. As for my lady, the light of her child is bright and good. The darkness in her does not come from it.”

“You’ve seen—” Sam began, but they were interrupted as the door to the suite banged open again.

“Hey, everyone.” Charlie came in, wearing riding clothes and muddy boots, straight from the stable by the look of her. She had a hunting bag over her shoulder; she tossed it on the floor with a clank, groaning at the release of the weight.

She looked terrible. She was now gaunt except for a small swelling at her middle and terribly pale, with bruise-like dark circles under her eyes. She looked unwashed and bedraggled, her clothes bloodstained—but worst to Cas was a deadness in her gaze.

“Had to go kill something,” she said. She did not meet anyone’s eyes. “Here, Sam,” she said, and tossed something at Sam’s feet. Cas gasped. It was a huge, grotesque, bloody hand. “Took care of the troll for you. Sorry. I should’ve said something before I left.” She said this last to Gilda, and her shoulders slumped a little. “The head was too heavy. I’m tired.” 

Cas and Sam both rose. Cas was closer and reached Charlie’s side first; he took her arm to help her to the divan, but she shook him off. “Get off. Don’t touch me,” she snapped, and her voice was unrecognizable: cold, dismissive, missing the humor that usually lay beneath everything she said. “And by the way, you can stay away from my lady, too. Don’t think I don’t know you wait until I’m gone to sneak in here…”

Cas had released her arm, stung and startled, but Sam caught her other arm as she stumbled, and she allowed him to help her sit. Sam said, “Charlie…”

“What? What am I saying? I didn’t mean…” She looked up at Sam with a strangely piteous expression. “I killed the troll for you.”

Cas and Gilda exchanged a frightened look.

“I know,” said Sam gently, “thank you. Now, let’s get you some of that soothing tea Marda taught Cas to make, and you should get some rest—”

“I don’t need to rest! Where’s Dean? He promised me a bout as soon as I was feeling better, and I’m going to beat him this time. This is it, I can feel it. I’m the best knight in the kingdom!” She shook Sam’s arm off and stood, staggering forward. She tripped over her bag of weapons, and Cas caught her.

“I am sorry to disobey you, lady,” he said, but unexpectedly, she slumped in his arms. He held her against his shoulder, bent and put one arm behind her knees, and picked her up—she was terribly light. He carried her to the door of the ladies’ bedroom, saying over his shoulder, “Sam, please have Sophie fetch Marda, or the herbalist from the village—”

“No, Cas,” Gilda interrupted. “ _You_ must help her, with Sam’s guidance,” 

Sam stood, caught between the door of the suite and the bedroom door. “What can _we_ do? I… if it is my curse…”

“It isn’t,” Gilda said sharply, “but it is our best hope that whatever ails my flame can be cured the same way Cas cured the curse in you. Since Cas has so little experience yet, and I have no healing gift, you must guide him.”

Cas stood, frozen, with Charlie in his arms. His magic spoke, wordless but so loud he was surprised the others did not seem to hear, did not wince at the thunder. He _must_ help Charlie. He must do it now.

He strode into the ladies’ bedroom and laid Charlie gently on the bed. She was muttering, her tone vacillating between rage and piteous confusion.

“Let me go!” she suddenly shouted, trying to sit up but making it only halfway before she collapsed back weakly against the pillow. “I can fight! I can still fight! I’ll kill them all!”

“Who?” whispered Sam, horror in his voice and on his face.

“The demons,” answered Gilda. “She is lost in time. I should have seen this coming. She has said strange things of late, but I thought…” She was dissolving in tears. “I thought it was only fears about being pregnant, such as I have—dreams where the babes’ safety is threatened…”

“I thought it was only dreams as well,” said Cas. From far away, a part of him was startled at the steely authority in his voice. “It is quite real, and quite dangerous, and I shall drive it out, as I have done before.”

Sam was staring at Cas with gentle bewilderment that gave way to awe. “How can I help, Cas?” he said after a short silence.

Cas was straightening Charlie’s limbs and pushing her bedraggled hair off her face, which was grayish and sweaty now. “You must anchor me,” Cas said, as if he had done this a thousand times. He felt, somehow, that he had. “You cannot follow all the way with your magic, but if you extend a bit into me, with the intention that it will guide me back if I lose my way, that will keep me from expending my own life-force. Is… is that right, Gilda?” He spoke this last as uncertainty crept in to disturb this strange, unearned confidence.

Gilda was the only person who did not appear surprised. “Yes,” she says. “Follow your magic. It knows what to do. I will help. My magic cannot heal, but perhaps my love can. I will help Charlie fight this last battle, and love is my weapon.” Her eyes were blazing strangely. She eased herself into bed behind Charlie, and Cas helped them position themselves so Charlie’s head was in Gilda’s lap, with Gilda’s rounding belly resting against it. Sam knelt beside Cas where he sat on the edge of the bed, and Cas put his free hand in his.

Cas knew exactly what to do, somehow. He placed his hand on Charlie’s head and suddenly, a wave of his magic swamped them both, carrying Cas into the shadowed place he’d seen in his dreams, where Charlie lay struggling, fighting for her life against a thorny bed of shadow that hissed at her like the snakes of Cas’s dream.

He did not hesitate. With a shout, he nocked an arrow to an incorporeal bow and shot a bolt of blinding-pure light directly into the vile corruption, followed by another. He shouted words in a language he did not know, sprang forth, and wrested Charlie free of the dark tendrils. He called her name, bidding her to return. Dimly he heard Gilda doing the same, and Charlie turned toward the light behind them whence came Gilda’s voice.

Cas turned back to the shadows. They cringed before him now, taking the form of three or four slinking, weasel-like beasts, and he chased them, wrapping them with light, demanding their surrender. They dissolved, and he cast about in the dim, directionless plain for more, determined to destroy every last shadow, but he was terribly alone… lost, he thought, until he heard Sam’s voice. Faces were forming, colors returning to the world. 

He knelt next to a bed, his face pressed to a blanket, and Sam said, clear and close, “Come home, Cas. You are victorious. Come back to me.” He looked up, and that most beloved face came into focus for a moment before he slumped in Sam’s arms.

* * *

It was mere hours this time instead of days before Cas woke. He sat up quickly and looked around himself wildly. He was on the feather-tick on the floor in the room in the ladies’ suite where they’d conceived the babes, which Gilda had left as it was, exotically draped and warm in lamp-glow. Sam was beside him, at his ease with a book in his hand.

“Easy, Cas,” said Sam, setting down his book. “How do you feel?”

“I am… well,” said Cas wonderingly. Really, he felt rather fine, almost refreshed, as after a good sleep. It was as if a weight had been laid on him, bit by bit so insidiously he had never noticed, and it was now lifted. “Charlie?” he asked anxiously, as the vision of her wrapped in thorns and snakes of darkness returned.

“Well, you _look_ well, I must say,” said Sam, releasing him as Cas turned to put his feet on the floor. “Much better than last time.” Sam stood and offered Cas his hand to help him up; Cas took it, but hardly needed it as he rose easily. 

“Charlie is much improved,” Sam said, lifting Cas’s chin in his hand for a kiss. “Thanks to you, our brave hero. Come and see her. It will ease your heart.”

Cas flushed at being called a hero, and meekly followed Sam out into the main room of the suite. Charlie and Gilda were both there, Gilda in a chair that had been pushed next to the divan, where Charlie lay propped up on pillows. Ylsa was there too, setting out a late supper.

“There’s my lad,” she said cheerfully as she set down the teapot. She came to Cas and hugged him warmly, kissing his cheek, which she had never done before. A happy warmth swept over him as she said in his ear, “Our lord told me what you did. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Nor I,” said Sam, and Ylsa released Cas and patted Sam absently as she turned back to pour tea. Cas saw Sam’s eyes light; he blinked and smiled, and Cas thought this was perhaps the first time Ylsa had touched him since he had spoken to her of Aury’s death.

“Is that my brave savior?” said Charlie, and Cas turned to look at her. She looked immeasurably better—like herself again, if still too thin. Her color had improved and best of all, she was smiling. Cas hurried to her side.

“I don’t know what all I said to you while I was ill,” she said, and too Cas’s surprise, she took his hand. Charlie was rarely demonstrative with anyone but Gilda. “But I didn’t mean it. I went mad there for a little while. I would have gone madder, I expect, had you not pulled me out. I still don’t understand why, or what that was—Gilda has tried to explain—”

“But even I do not know much,” Gilda interjected. “I remember some references to such a sickness from the studies of my youth. Lord Sam has said I may use his library to try to learn more.”

“But you knew what to do. Thank you,” said Charlie gravely, squeezing Cas’s hand. “I’m sorry if I was unkind. I do remember thinking you were trying to steal Gilda from me, and… that is madness. I want you to know I am glad she is pregnant by you, especially if this gift of yours, which now seems more precious than ever, can continue in the world.”

Cas squeezed her hand back. “I am glad to see you so well, lady,” he said. “I hope you will allow me to see to your needs as you convalesce.”

Charlie shook her head, smiling. “You’re a wonder, Castiel,” she said. “You behave as a prince and great spiritual warrior when called upon to do so, then turn right around and start acting like a page-lad the next moment. You need not be my servant.”

“It is my honor to serve,” Cas said sincerely, “in whatever way I can. I do not understand this gift of mine yet, but I am grateful it could help you. We were terribly worried about you. If the darkness returns—any trace of it—please tell me sooner next time. As for waiting on you, you undertake a great task, bearing a child, and I am both glad and obligated to do all I can to help you, and Lady Gilda too.”

“I feel the same, as is only right,” said Sam. “I am not as skilled in these tasks as Cas, but I will undertake to help you in all ways, as well.”

“You can kill the trolls from now on,” said Charlie cheerfully. “I don’t really remember that part; I was deep in shadow when I rode out. I don’t know that I’ll be able to deal with this… silk and teacakes confinement for a whole five months more, or whatever it is to be, but at least I’ll leave the hunting to you and your knights. For now.”

* * *

Cas lay awake that night after Sam and he had loved each other thoroughly. He remembered the dark land, and knew it was the same place from which he had brought Sam back—those memories too returned to him clearer than ever. This time, his return from darkness had been so much easier. He saw how he had given Sam all he had, and perhaps, as Sam had been in the grip of this terrible shadow longer than Charlie, and had been mortally wounded besides, that had been necessary. But he felt himself filling with energy and light again now, drawing it from the love Sam gave him and the beauty of the life he had here, friends and a burgeoning family, a sense of belonging he had never dreamed was possible for him.

Looking inside himself, he saw a vast reservoir of magic inside him, waves of light washing an invisibly distant shore. All things seemed possible—even that he, a bastard servant lad, could become a prince and a great healer, and soon, a father. As Sam curled around him in sleep, he thought that Sam seemed… not smaller, perhaps, but _closer_ to Cas, more the same. They were the same size now. Sam had battled and sacrificed to save his kingdom, and now, he realized with humbled awe, so had he.

_You just be Castiel,_ Ylsa had told him, when he said he did not know how to be Prince Edlund. Perhaps, he thought, as he settled into Sam’s warmth and sleep stole over him… perhaps they had always been the same.


	37. Chapter 37

Charlie’s health and mood improved drastically in the days that followed. She developed a rapacious appetite, as if to make up for barely eating while she was ill, and she appeared to gain flesh and color almost hourly. Cas spent his mornings in the kitchen with Ylsa and Sophie, preparing all manner of food for her and Gilda. Keeping Charlie well-fed became a matter of humor about the castle, and soon, other village folk began bringing confections and baked goods to satisfy her sweet tooth. Sam took a hand as well, riding out to the woods to snare the rabbits that had begun reappearing as spring progressed. Sam wanted to make a particular kind of rabbit stew with dumplings for Charlie, but after a failed experiment or two, Ylsa chased him from the kitchen and said she’d tend to it if he brought her the rabbits.

It was not the right season to hunt deer, and care was need hunting anything at this time of year, but Sam used his singular archery skill to bring down geese as well, as the first flocks began to return, and Ylsa and Cas created a grand feast surrounding stuffed goose, which Gilda had never eaten, and she praised it highly. 

When not waiting on the ladies and happily chatting with them as they swelled with life, Sam and Cas continued Cas’s magic lessons. Sam seemed to think there was some urgency in the matter, and Cas agreed. He would never be a great warrior, but soon he would have children to protect, and even though Gilda and Charlie could protect the babes and themselves very well normally, while pregnant they were quite vulnerable, a fact even Charlie seemed to accept at last. She did not like being still, but understood finally that she could not spar with the knights in her condition, or hunt or even ride hard. Instead, she sometimes helped Cas with magic lessons, and so did Gilda.

Sam, Gilda, and Charlie each had their areas of expertise. To everyone’s amazement, Cas easily learned all that they taught him. Sam taught him how to use his fire magic more accurately, and to enhance his aim and power in archery with magic. He also knew a number of useful daily spells such as he had used in their camps on their journey, and Cas easily mastered all of these. 

Charlie taught him how to infuse himself with magical strength during sword-fights, until his strikes were so powerful even Sam staggered when he struck his shield—when Sam allowed him to land a blow. Cas’s speed needed improvement, and Sam and Charlie both helped him with that.

Gilda’s magic was the most fascinating, and hardest to understand. When Cas finally grasped it, he mastered it quickly as well.

“I work mostly in the mind,” she said. “It is useful battle magic. I cast illusions among the enemy, weaken their confidence, play on their fears. I make them believe that what is coming against them is much more fearsome and the numbers greater than they truly are. I make them think their sword arm is weak and their aim poor. Just… cast it in a cloud, and think what you want them to think.” 

Cas was never able to get this magic to work very well on Sam, Gilda, or Charlie. Gilda explained that it worked less on folk with magic—the stronger their gift, the less they felt the illusions. But as they had these lessons, some of Gilda’s folk, the younger knights, and other villagers started noticing, and volunteered to help. Not wanting to frighten them, Cas thought of an illusion to simply confuse them, and it worked. 

He recalled a time, early in his journey to Old Winchester, when the trade route he had been following had suddenly been jammed with great flocks of sheep. No one had been able to make any progress on the road that day until the shepherds moved the flocks through. So he imagined hundreds of sheep crowding the courtyard, and hundreds more, until there was no room to move at all. He saw his volunteers press closer and closer together, laughing at first and then shouting in protest. They saw and felt the sheep, staggered and shrank away from the herds Cas cast upon their minds. They laughed when he released them, and Gilda, able to see what he cast through her own magic, praised his progress highly.

Only in healing could none of them offer much advice, but Cas did not seem to need it. He noticed Ylsa moving slowly in the mornings, and when her work required her to bend or kneel, she asked Sophie to do those tasks. “These old knees feel the spring thaw,” she joked, but Cas took her aside one evening and asked if she was willing to let him experiment.

“I don’t see what harm it could do,” she said, ushering him into her chambers. “You can’t make me twenty years younger, but I doubt you’ll make me older, either.” She sat down in her favorite easy chair and propped her legs on an ottoman.

Cas felt that same strange confidence rise in him, that which he had felt when called on to heal Charlie. It did not hold the same dark portent; when he thought of the pain and stiffness in Ylsa’s knees, he did not want to blast it out of her, but simply asked it to remember… how _not_ to hurt. He laid his hands on her knees and felt in them the memory of youth. He spread it over her legs with a healthy dose of his concern and love, and after only a moment, sat back and looked at her.

She was staring at him in wonder. After a moment, Cas said, “Well?”

She blinked. “I… don’t know what to say, lad. I said you couldn’t make me twenty years younger, and it’s not that, exactly, but…” She stood and walked a few steps, and gave Cas a dazzling smile and, to his surprise, a deep curtsy. Such formalities were not part of her nature, but she performed it as well as the most genteel lady Cas had ever seen in his days at the service academy. “It hasn’t felt like this in years,” she said, and tears came to her eyes. “Thank you, lad. You’ve given me a great gift.”

* * *

Cas was singularly happy during the day—indeed, he had never imagined such happiness was possible. But gradually, in the deepest shadows of night, long after Sam slept, Cas found his happiness was disturbed, undercut. The dark dreams he’d had when Charlie was ill had gone away when she was healed, but they crept back insidiously, and Cas could neither escape them nor understand them. His dream-mind travelled to dark places he didn’t know, and the only thing familiar about the haunted faces he saw was the despair in their eyes.

The light of Winchester morning chased these dreams away so thoroughly that Cas could not remember them upon waking. His waking life was so happy it was hard to concentrate upon dark dreams or place any importance on them, but one night he fell into a nightmare that burned awareness into him. 

He was walking up a dead, black road at midnight under hard, unfriendly stars, and up ahead was a great castle silhouetted against the sky, a deeper darkness that seemed to suck him in. He carried a light, but it struggled and faded as shadows grew from the castle, and Cas knew that they were _awake,_ and as he thought it, they came for him, turning from slow, snaking mist into hard, quick arrows shooting toward him, and as he held up his light against them, his heart spasmed with terror as he realized the castle was King’s Bastion, but the city around it, his nation’s thriving, beloved capitol, was razed and dead, empty of all but ghosts, and they were coming for him… coming _inside_ him…

“No!” he shouted, and the cry woke him, and light blasted the room; it came from his hands… 

“Cas?” Sam sat up abruptly, clutching him. Through the glare that thwarted Cas’s vision, he saw that Sam squinted and shaded his eyes. The light was real! It switched off suddenly, and he was blind in the darkness. 

Sam squeezed him, and shook him slightly. “Cas! What’s wrong?”

Cas could not answer, and Sam cradled him. “Shhh,” he said, and Cas realized he was weeping, whimpering softly. “It’s all right. All is well. You were dreaming.”

“It’s not,” Cas said, clinging to Sam. “All is not well—I was dreaming, but it… it’s a warning… my magic…”

“Yes… I didn’t know you could do that in the waking world,” said Sam. “I saw that light when you healed Charlie, in… that place you went to retrieve her. But I was awake when you shouted and blasted the room with daylight. I felt you stirring in nightmare; I was about to wake you. What did you dream?”

Cas’s panic faded as the ordinary sight of Sam’s chambers—his chambers too, he supposed, now—returned as eyes recovered. Sam’s embrace calmed him, and he told him of the dream, and that fainter versions of this terror had been shadowing him for some nights.

Sam had called the lamp in the room to gentle life, and in its glow, his face was deeply troubled. “You say these are like the dreams that warned of Charlie’s illness?” he asked.

“Yes. The… the darkness is the same as what was in her.”

Sam looked deeply troubled. “And the faces in the dream—you did not recognize any of them?”

“No, it was no one I have ever met, but they were still familiar… as if I should know them.”

Sam looked increasingly worried. He was silent for a moment. “We must ask Gilda what it means, and perhaps look in the library. I have too little experience of magical portent. We will go as soon as she’ll be waking.”

At dawn, they rose and dressed and hurried to the ladies’ suite, but were interrupted by a clamor from the courtyard before they reached it. They looked out a window and saw a mounted troop galloping to the castle, and Sam sprinted down the castle steps with Cas hurrying behind him.

Cas blinked in bewilderment. It was Lord Dean at the head of a dozen knights in king’s colors.

“Dean! How did you get back so soon? Is all well?” Sam hurried to take Impala’s head as Dean dismounted.

Cas had never seen Lord Dean look so grave. “I never made it to the Bastion,” he said, removing his gauntlets and wiping sweat from his brow. “I picked up Ben and Lisa and was only a day out of Singer when we met a troop of Father’s knights on their way there. They had come to fetch me, and then you, Sam. I sent half of them back, to guard Lisa the rest of the way home, and came to find you myself.”

Sam had turned pale. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

Cas, watching him and the uncharacteristically serious Dean, felt that he _knew_ before Dean answered.

“They brought news of a strange and terrible sickness in the lands around the capitol. Father wants us both home, but you particularly, Sam. None of the healers have been able to do a thing to help. It’s odd, who it strikes. Mostly knights and warriors, but not only them, and contact doesn’t seem to matter—it doesn’t spread like a normal disease. It hasn’t affected too many folk yet, but everyone who sickens with it dies.” 

He paused, taking in Sam’s expression. He looked briefly at Cas and nodded to him, his expression inscrutable. “You don’t look as surprised as I would expect,” he said. “You’d better fill me in over breakfast. And I know you’ve the ladies and your babies to worry about, but I think we’d better get back on the road as soon as Impala is rested.”

Sam did not answer, frowning at the ground, but Cas looked right into Dean’s face. For almost the first time ever, it was easy to meet his eyes. There was understanding between them. Dean held his gaze for a long, calculating moment before he nodded again, and turned back to Sam.

“We need you home, Sam,” he said. “And I think we need Cas, too.”


	38. Chapter 38

Without anyone noticing, Cas parted from the knights while Sam spoke urgently to Dean, and went to the kitchen while the stable hands all turned out to tend the knight’s horses. Ylsa and Sophie were flying about frantically to prepare food for the unexpected guests, and he joined them, stirring and chopping and peeling as fast as he could for nearly an hour before Ylsa noticed him.

“What are you doing here, lad? Surely they need you in the noble’s hall. And you’ll be off to the Bastion tomorrow, I expect. Or even later today. You’ll need to prepare for your journey. Go on! Sophie and I can handle this. I’ve sent for Daphne, and there’s a lad among Gilda’s folk who has been helpful; between us all, we’ll get provisions ready for you and the lords and knights.”

Cas left reluctantly. He had been glad not to be noticed, but he knew that would not last. He wondered if anyone had thought to go to Charlie and Gilda and inform them. He found their suite empty, and turned somewhat unwillingly toward the nobles’ hall, when Sam came striding toward him.

“There you are! Where did you sneak off to?” Sam said. He took Cas’s arm and turned him toward the noble’s hall, pulling him quickly along. He looked irritable and anxious, but catching Cas’s expression, sighed and stopped his stride, turning Cas in his arms.

“I am beginning to see how you might wish to remain a kitchen lad,” he said. “Cas, I know this is a lot to ask of you. But truth be told, it may be only you who can save our people. And I have not forgotten your dreams. We must discuss them.”

Cas looked down, shame-faced. “I would not shirk my duty, lord. But… all those knights from the Bastion,” he said. “They know nothing of me, but after a few hours here they will all know we’re lovers. That may make them dislike me, and besides, they will not wish to hear the opinion of a peasant lad…”

“They will hear the most important opinion there is to hear on the subject, and they will respect it, because I am lord here and will not have it otherwise,” Sam said in a hard voice. “As for our being lovers, rumors about me have been whispered in the Bastion for years. Some of them may even know already. Indeed there is one fellow I saw riding behind Dean whom I believe has leanings our way himself. Neither Dean nor I will tolerate any censure; don’t worry about that. And they will follow our orders if we instruct them to be discreet, about that or other matters. After Dean tells his tale, we’ll dismiss the other knights and speak privately. All right?”

Cas nodded. Sam clasped his shoulder reassuringly before striding off again, Cas keeping pace.

Old Winchester was in a terrible flurry as the news spread. Dean had not thought to caution the King’s knights to keep the news to themselves. By the time breakfast was served, and all the knights of the King and of Old Winchester gathered in the noble’s hall to eat it, everyone knew of the mysterious illness in the capitol. 

Sam took his place at the head of the table with Dean to his right and Cas at his left, with Charlie next to Dean and Gilda next to Cas. The King’s knights seemed surprised at the visible pregnancy of the two ladies, and many peered curiously at Cas in his seat of honor. His face heated under their scrutiny, but soon enough, all eyes were on Dean as he told his tale.

“At first,” Dean said, when breakfast had been served and Sam had urged him to tell his tale, “no one thought the cases were connected. People lose their minds sometimes, and the dark winter months are worst. But madness shouldn’t manifest in such a consistent way among so many at once, or always lead to physical wasting and illness…”

Charlie’s troubled gaze was locked on Dean’s face. She grew more troubled the longer he spoke.

“Reports began coming in from around the city and villages nearby,” Dean continued. “Folk asked for the royal healers, and Father sent them out, every herbalist and surgeon we had. None had ever seen anything like these symptoms before—the victims become… not themselves. Don’t recognize their loved ones, don’t want to do their work, and in the end they all get… angry, despairing, sometimes afraid. Father sent the head healer’s report.” He pushed a scroll to Sam, who opened it and frowned down at it as Dean kept speaking. “They haven’t found too many patterns yet. Like I said, it doesn’t spread by touch or proximity, and it strikes both men and women, peasant and noble, old and young—but no children yet.”

“It says here that the youngest victim was twenty,” said Sam.

“That’s right,” Dean said. “And there have been a few old granthers. But twenties to middle age—that’s a lot of variance. Could be age as nothing to do with it at all.”

“It’s…” Charlie had paled as Dean spoke. Now everyone turned to her. She straightened herself and cleared her throat. “It’s from the war,” she said in a strong, clear voice. “It’s people who are old enough to have seen it—who fought in it or were hurt by it.”

There was a silence. “If that were the case,” said Sir Rufus, “you’d think it would come here first. To Old Winchester, since nearly everyone here had some part.”

“It did come here first,” said Sam suddenly. “To me. I was its first victim.”

There was a rush of murmurs. Dean was staring hard at Sam. They seemed to be trying to communicate without speaking, and Cas started when Sam’s hand found his under the table and clasped it firmly.

“And I was the second, probably,” said Charlie. “Though it sounds like it began happening in the capitol at about the same time. It may be happening in other places, like Campbell, and we just haven’t heard yet.”

“Bobby knows what to look for at Singer,” said Dean. “Though that won’t help, if it can’t be cured... but it can?” He looked questioningly from Charlie to Sam.

“Not easily,” said Sam hesitantly. He squeezed Cas’s hand very hard; Cas felt that he was trying to communicate something, but he did not know what. “But there is hope. There is a spell that may help. It… I was saved, and helped Charlie.”

Sam looked distressed, and Cas knew it was because though he tried not to lie, he knew he made it sound like he was the one who had saved both himself and Charlie with a healing-spell, but Cas was frankly relieved at the deception, and that the knights seemed to accept it easily.

Uncharacteristically, Dean asked no further questions. Cas knew that he would not be so reticent once the knights were gone. “We’ll stay at Old Winchester for the day,” Dean said. “The horses need a rest, and we won’t denude Sam’s stables by taking so many replacements. The day will have to be enough to make arrangements. We must ride at speed to the Bastion at dawn.”

* * *

Dean dismissed the knights to the nobles’ suites to rest for the day, and all the servants of Old Winchester scrambled to prepare rooms and make them comfortable. Cas itched to help, though he was finally coming to understand why he could not make beds, bring tea and air chambers when the kingdom’s future was at stake, and its saving at least partly in his hands. It seemed surreal, impossible, but at the same time, he knew it, and Dean’s news, strange as it seemed, brought a calm to his spirit that he had been missing for some weeks—or perhaps his whole life. He was imbued with _purpose,_ and resolved to shirk no part of his duty to Lawrence.

They went to the ladies’ suite to talk. Dean entered last, and as he closed the door behind him, he said bluntly, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Father know of Cas’s lineage.”

“I agree,” said Sam. “Cas, that’s still your preference, to keep this secret?”

Cas nodded as Dean continued. “We may not be able to avoid it, if he’s the only one who can heal folk of this illness, but Father’s in a royal panic right now and I don’t think it would go well. He’d have Cas married and tied to the crown in a heartbeat, if he thought that was what it took to save Lawrence, and I think at this point he might really throw Cas in prison if he refused.”

Sam glowered so fiercely that even Cas, used as he was to all of Sam’s moods, flinched, but Dean didn’t. “Don’t look at _me_ like that,” he quipped. “I already said I don’t want Father to find out. If you know how Cas can heal people without the secret getting out, I’m all ears.”

“I know how we may accomplish this,” said Gilda quietly, and Dean turned to her, raising his eyebrow. Gilda eased back, resting her hand on her belly. “There was a time in our kingdom’s distant history when there was unrest, a possessiveness of the greatest magic power,” she continued. “Battles were fought over talent, and so there was a spell created of deception, to… transfer the light, the appearance of power, from one magic user to another. It allowed people both to hide their power, and to claim greater power and the privileges that came with it. It was an ugly time, and the spell was used for terrible deceit, but it does not follow that it can’t be used for good.”

“So you make it look like Sam’s the one who’s so bright?” Dean asked. He glanced at Cas and grinned, pretending to shade his eyes. Cas flushed. “Will Cas’s power be invisible, then?” 

“I am not sure—we will have to try the spell and see,” said Gilda. “I think not invisible—that feeling of a magic user goes beyond the brightness of aura and can be felt in the blood of magic users. But the diminishing should be enough. It can be as it is here—that folks know Cas has a gift, one that a peasant of your kingdom might possess as well as nobility, but they cannot see its extent. Most of them. Those with power among Sam’s knights are already beginning to suspect.”

“Well, we can count on their discretion,” said Sam. “Will this spell work only when Cas works magic, or can it disguise his aura enough all the time that my father won’t suspect the truth?”

“It should work all the time, and it’s not unheard of for one’s gift to still be increasing at your age,” said Gilda. “I think it will look like your power has strengthened, which will make it believable that you are healing these victims.”

“So you know this spell?” asked Charlie. “It doesn’t seem much like what you told me of the North, to use something like that—you said magic power doesn’t matter, either for or against people in their social standing.”

“It does not—did not anymore,” said Gilda, and the sadness that always came over her when she spoke of her destroyed homeland dimmed her manner. Charlie squeezed her hand. “And I do not know it, but I believe we can find it. It has not been used in centuries, though there are folk tales about people using it to snare a lover who wished to have children of power. I know of no instances where that really happened anytime in living memory, but I read about the spell and its history in my studies before the war. I have found spell books from that time in Old Winchester’s library, and I should be able to perform the spell on Sam and Cas, to make it look like the power that Cas radiates comes from Sam.”

“So Sam could perform the healing spell, make a show if it while Cas pretends to be his student and squire, and Cas actually does the deed? You did this for Charlie? She was really sick like that?” said Dean, turning to Cas. Cas realized he knew Dean enough to feel the anxious concern Dean was trying to hide as he glanced, half unwilling, at Charlie’s belly.

“He did,” Gilda answered. “My only hesitation is that I do not know if the victims will know who it is, truly, who is rescuing them. Cas may need to cast an illusion, a false memory to make them see Sam instead of himself. This magic, of the mind and illusion, is my specialty, so if I could accompany you…”

“Hell no,” said Dean, at the same moment Charlie exclaimed wordlessly and Cas said, “No, lady!”

“I know I cannot,” said Gilda sorrowfully, “but I wish to help.”

“What if you taught me the illusions?” said Sam. “Almost no one in our kingdom has seen the healing spell I taught Cas, and when he saved Charlie, he didn’t even use it. I could pretend to do that spell—do something showy and pointless while I was casting the illusion in the victim’s minds, and Cas could pretend to just be helping me and offering comfort to the victim while he actually does the magic to save them. It… sits ill with me, Cas,” he said, turning to where Cas sat beside him and taking his hand. “To take credit for your work and your power. But I am known to be the only true magical healer left in the kingdom, and I think people would believe the ruse.”

“I think they would, too,” said Charlie. “I knew the secret of his lineage when he saved me, but in that dark place… well, I don’t have a power as great as any of the rest of you. And I didn’t see much. If I didn’t _know_ it was Cas, I would not necessarily have been able to tell that the light came from him. We can probably expect that most people you heal, if they have magic at all, will have less than me. Maybe they will not see much when he saves them.”

“I was following Cas’s training when Gilda taught him the mind-illusions,” said Sam. “I think I could learn it. Cas—what do you think of this plan?”

“I feel a great relief, lords,” he said, addressing both Sam and Dean. “I know I must do all I can to save our people, but I do not wish to be found out—made a prince or anything like it. If we can do what is needed and keep my heritage secret from the king, at least until a more opportune time, then I am grateful.”

“Well then, as my lead scholar,” said Sam lightly, with a warm smile just for Cas, “I would ask you to go to the library and look for the spell, while I get some tutoring from Gilda.”

* * *

With instructions from Gilda, Cas found the spell easily enough. Gilda said it was simple for one with her mind-illusion power, and she cast it on Sam and Cas. They tested it on Dean and Charlie, who said it indeed looked like Cas’s bright aura had been transferred to Sam.

“I do not think we can test the healing itself, to see if Sam can cast his own image into the dream-scape of another, but it should all work on the principles I’ve taught you,” Gilda said with satisfaction. “I only wish…”

She did not finish, but glanced at Charlie, who frowned slightly but said nothing.

“What is it?” Sam asked, but Cas knew.

“My ladies,” he said, an anxious grief welling up in him, “I would not to wish to leave you here, with child, and perhaps miss the birth of the babes. I would not leave you alone to go through that, and if you were to need my healing…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Charlie. “We’ve got enough ladies of experience and would-be midwives hovering over us to birth twice as many babies, and what could any man do, except get in the way and make us both nervous? Besides, there’s almost three months to go. You might get back in time.”

“If my father’s fastest horses can bring make it so, they will,” Dean promised.


	39. Chapter 39

As Cas ran about madly, gathering supplies for their journey, anxiety about Gilda and Charlie and the babes ate at him. Despite Charlie’s assurances, it troubled him deeply that he was abandoning their care. Of all people, it was Sophie who reassured him.

“Sir Castiel,” she said shyly, as she entered the storeroom where she and Ylsa were working with him. Cas started a bit at the unearned title, and at Sophie’s direct address. She had been shy with him, and very diligent in her duties, since she had revealed her crush on him, and the other girls’ feelings for Lord Sam.

“I want you to know I’ll take the best care of the ladies while you’re gone,” Sophie continued diffidently. “I know you trust Ylsa, but… I care, too, and with what you and Ylsa have taught me, I think I’m really good at service now.”

Cas hardly knew how to answer—he wasn’t really aware that he had taught Sophie anything, but before he could do more than murmur his thanks, she continued.

“You could have left everything to Ylsa and me and the other servants once our lord made you squire, and you got magic and everything,” she said. “But you didn’t. You didn’t get above yourself, and kept taking care of the ladies… even though neither of them is _your_ lady.” 

She flushed a little as she said it; Cas knew the ladies’ pregnancy, while accepted by the stoic people of Old Winchester, was a matter of some gossip given Sam and Cas’s (and Charlie and Gilda’s) known relationship. “Lord Sam needs you to journey with him, and so I’ll fill in for you, as best I can. I know how to make the soup Lady Gilda likes, and the tarts you bake for Dame Charlie, and I’ll go to their chambers early and late to check on them when Ylsa needs to rest. So you needn’t worry about them. I promise.” She said this last with a solemnity that touched Cas’s heart.

“Thank you, Sophie,” he said sincerely. “That eases my mind more than I can say.”

She gave an enthusiastic nod that doubled for an awkward half-bow and hurried away, just as Sam came seeking him to eat supper in the ladies’ suite. “Dean is very interested in these dreams you’ve been having,” Sam said.

_Interested,_ Cas came to feel, was a mild word—Dean wrung more out of Cas with his questions than Cas had known was there, and Dean had plenty of questions for Gilda about her interpretation of these dreams as well, things Cas needed to know but would not have thought to ask.

“Well,” said Dean, cutting a bit of fat from his lamb steak, “I’m not as big a believer in destiny as most of you seem to be. But Cas’s job is pretty clear here. We’ll do our best to keep Father’s eyes off him, and hope that the plague hasn’t killed many, and doesn’t spread too fast so that Cas can heal the rest.”

“Best not to call it a plague, Dean,” said Sam. “We don’t want to cause a panic.”

“Fine,” Dean answered. “This… spirit-ague, then. It’s clear your magic saw it coming,” he said to Cas. “So in future, since you two are such… close bedfellows, you ought to tell Sam your dreams sooner than later, in case they mean something.”

“I’ll do that,” Cas answered meekly. Dean’s words brought another worry to Cas’s mind. “What about… that part of it, lords? I… Old Winchester has been all right, mostly, with us as lovers. But in the capitol… I remember my father and brothers having great contempt and dislike for such men, when they were even acknowledged to exist. Michael called them diseased…” He stopped. The memory was surprisingly painful. He had not even been sure of himself, when Michael spoke those hateful words, yet now he wondered if Michael had somehow known, and wished to hurt him by saying them.

“He sounds like a prize, your brother,” said Charlie wryly. “Listen, Cas. I think it’s a little easier for women. It’s like people don’t really believe Gilda and I could be having sex, because when there are men involved, it’s all about sticking something somewhere.” Cas felt himself flush deeply; Sam looked away, shifting uncomfortably, while Dean chortled. “But I’ve gotten that attitude my whole life, and decided a long time ago that I didn’t care. And anyone who cared enough to give me trouble about it just got knocked down a few times until they decided it wasn’t worth it. You’re strong enough to do the same, I daresay.”

“It’s different for Cas, though,” said Dean. “Because Father, even if he never finds out who Cas really is, will see him as an obstacle to Sam marrying, once he knows they’re lovers.”

Sam started to speak, but Charlie interrupted him. “I’ve been thinking about that,” she said, glancing at Sam in apology for speaking over him. “And I realized you should tell old King John I’m pregnant with your child, as soon as you get there. Say that I refuse to ever marry, but I _do_ want children, and I’m happy for them to be Winchester heirs as long as I don’t have to be.”

“Oooh, that’ll give him something to chew on for a few days!” Dean laughed.

“And I can say the same,” said Sam. “That I won’t marry, but I will produce heirs… er, at least one. Perhaps I shouldn’t promise him more,” he said awkwardly.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” said Charlie. “You can promise him whatever you want—I’m free to decide later, whatever you tell him. Depending on what childbirth is like—and raising babes—I may decide one’s enough. Or I may not.” She shrugged. “I could decide I want a bunch of them. Maybe we’ll do the twins spell on me next time. You never know.” She was grinning cheekily, and squeezed Gilda’s hand. “Gilda has said she’ll stay home with the children should I wish to hunt, or if there is battle to do. So we’ll just see. Maybe we’ll put magic back into Lawrence all between the four of us.”

“Six,” said Dean. “Don’t forget my son with Lisa shows great promise, and there’ll be a second child any day now.” His face clouded briefly. “Maybe before we reach the Bastion.”

There was a silence. “Sorry, Dean,” said Sam awkwardly.

“I made my choice,” said Dean. “I could have gone on with Lisa and let the messengers come to you. But I felt like I needed to be in this fight. Don’t know how much good I’ll be to Lisa when the time comes, anyway. She’ll have the best midwives in the kingdom tending her; there’s even one travelling with her in case the babe comes early. And healers a-plenty if anything goes wrong, even if they’re not magical like our Cas.”

“Nonetheless,” said Cas, steeling himself to enter the conversation, “If we can keep it from everyone in the capitol that we’re lovers, at least at first…”

“I was thinking that would be best, too,” said Sam gently. “I don’t wish to hide who we are—who _you_ are—but if you come to the Bastion as my lover, it will be a great scandal, and all eyes will be on you. It will make it harder to conceal your power and heritage.”

“Agreed,” said Dean. “At least at first, until he establishes himself. If it comes out after people have accepted him as your squire and one with a nascent gift of magic—a small one—then it won’t cause as much stir. Especially with everyone focused on their prince returned home, healing his people—they’ll love that.”

“It isn’t home, though,” Sam said softly. “I’ll need Father to remember that. Last time, I had to sneak to the stables with no luggage packed in order to get out without a big scene.”

“Oh yeah, and Father was livid the next day,” said Dean. “That little rat Terin didn’t try to stop you?”

“No, who’s that?”

“Oh, maybe he started after you left,” said Dean. “He’s Father’s valet. Tried to be mine, too, but I wouldn’t have him. Why any grown man needs some toady to wipe his ass for him… er, no offense, Cas.”

Cas demurred as Sam said, “Father’s never held with that kind of thing before, either. He always taught us to look after ourselves and did the same… but he has a valet now?”

“Yeah. Sneaky, impertinent, intrusive little weasel. For a while he was in my way everywhere I went, trying to ingratiate himself to the heir I guess, but I told him off when Lisa said she didn’t like him. I have no use for him, but I guess Father relies on him now.”

No more was said of Terin, but Sam frowned as the conversation moved on. They stayed up late with Charlie and Gilda, all discussing how to talk to the knights about keeping the secret of the lovers, how to present Sam as the healer and work with the spell to keep Cas’s power concealed, and other matters of travel and politics at the capitol, until Cas noticed Gilda looking a bit pale with weariness.

“We should sleep. We are riding early, and the ladies…” Cas came to Gilda and knelt in front of her. She patted him, smiling.

“All will be well with me and my lady,” she said. “The folk here are wondrously welcoming and attentive. Even if the babes come before you return, do not trouble yourself. I wish…” She sighed. “I have been tormented for years, wishing I could have saved my people,” she said. “Now you have a chance to save yours—and indeed, perhaps create a future that includes _both_ our kingdoms. You must not fear.”

Cas nodded, holding back tears. He knew his duty, but the parting was harder even than he’d expected. He laid his hand on Gilda’s belly, as he had often done. The babes had started to move, she said, but so far, Cas had not been with Gilda to feel it when they were active, “performing calisthenics in my womb,” as she put it. Now he gasped aloud as he felt a stirring, which seemed both physical and faintly magical, beneath his palm.

Gilda smiled. “Yes, they are waking,” she said, “even if I barely am. Perhaps they wish to say goodbye to their father.”

Cas pressed his hand more firmly against her, then laid his ear next to it. He sat for a moment thusly, listening to soft swishing noises, a susurration of burgeoning life inside Gilda that accompanied the movement. At length he murmured, “Goodbye, little ones. I will return to meet you face to face soon.”

There was a feeling silence for a moment before Charlie said, “Well, I’m not much for getting up before dawn these days, so we’d better say our goodbyes now. Want to visit your little whelp too, Sam?”

Sam went quickly to her side. He had not proved as comfortable with all the trappings of pregnancy as Cas, though he had listened enraptured (and sometimes faintly horrified) as the ladies described what growing life inside them was like. He copied Cas’s movements on Charlie’s belly a bit awkwardly; Charlie laughed gently at him and guided his hand. “There; feel that?” she said after a moment, and Sam nodded, looking a bit bemused and overwhelmed.

He patted Charlie’s belly, then leaned to embrace her. “You’ll really be well?” he said.

“We’ll be fine,” Charlie answered. “We’ve got more protection here than we had in Bradbury, even without me to terrorize the forces of evil for a few months yet.”

Sam grinned, but it faded quickly. “But perhaps more to protect against. The lands north are still dangerous, though my knights are vigilant.”

“They’re vigilant enough. And don’t forget Ylsa,” said Charlie with a smirk. She and Ylsa had taken to each other as Charlie recovered from her illness. “I’ve heard that tale of her and the demon-dog at the end of the war. Not much has a chance of getting past her.”

“Indeed.” Sam relaxed a bit. He embraced Charlie, and bowed over Gilda’s hand and kissed it. They said their goodbyes and sought their beds.

~* * *~

The next morning, Cas felt a strange lightness of heart as they left Old Winchester behind under a flaming sky of dawn. Despite the pain and worry about the ladies and the babes, he felt he was riding toward his future—to what he was always meant to be.

After an hour or two, listening to the excited talk and occasional rousing song of the king’s knights, he recognized something that he had observed in others, but never felt in himself: a battle spirit. He thought of the darkness hiding in the hearts of Lawrence’s warriors, such as he had seen inside Charlie and Sam, and he wished to _fight._ Though he would never be a warrior such as Charlie or the Winchesters with a sword, he had his own unique weapons and the will to wield them. 

With his love by his side and friends behind him, he would fight for his kingdom, and he believed in some way for the first time in his life, that he would win.


	40. Chapter 40

There was no comparing the journey to King’s Bastion with the Winchesters and their knights to the one Cas had made from there to Old Winchester, and not just because they took different roads. Cas felt that the Lawrence they rode through was one he’d never seen. After the first day, they left behind the thinly peopled lands of southern Winchester county, and began seeing prosperous towns, with courier stations manned by riders in king’s colors. These riders conferred with Dean or Sam briefly to discover how far they planned to ride that day, then galloped ahead to arrange quarters for them at inns along the road, and occasionally replacement horses if one showed signs of fatigue. 

Though their party, making the best speed they could, usually arrived after dark, the people of the towns they stayed in always turned out to greet them to ask for news and praise them and, in the case of the unmarried women, to tie favors to the knights’ saddles. Most of the king’s knights were bachelors, but somehow the ladies knew which were married, such as Dean, and these knights got no favors, though flirting on both sides seemed perfectly acceptable. Cas reflected that Dean was lucky this was so, for he did not think Dean capable of stopping. 

Sam received a great many favors, which he politely accepted, though Cas saw him begin to show strain under the attention. He thought this was perhaps less the ladies’ favors than what they made him think of, with their increasing proximity to the capitol. He stopped speaking much, even to Cas, though he still showed him affection. There was no privacy for intimacy, but Sam still put their bedrolls together, the nights that they did not stay at inns, and held Cas while they slept. Cas saw some among the king’s knights eyeing him at times, and he heard a few off-color jokes, but for the most part, they seemed to take his relationship with Sam in stride easily enough.

They found the first victim before they even reached the capitol. It was still a day’s ride away when they prepared to stop at the largest, grandest town Cas had yet seen. They were leading their horses into the inn’s stable yard at dusk when the loud braying of a mule made them all look up. The mule trotted into the yard bearing a young woman, awkwardly mounted and clinging to the mule’s neck. “Lord Sam!” she called plaintively as she slid off the mule’s back and landed on her rear. The mule paused in its braying at the strange horses to nuzzle her, and Cas, already dismounted, hurried over to hand her to her feet. Once she was up he took the mule’s reins and stroked its neck; it quieted immediately under his touch.

The woman—a girl, really, Cas realized on closer inspection—looked around at all the knights standing with their horses and paled. She faltered even further at all the eyes on her as she tried to draw breath, and a sob came out instead of words.

“Miss,” Cas said gently, and she turned toward him as to a lifeline. He knew so well how she felt. “Lord Sam is here, and would hear your plea if you can make it.”

“You heard of my coming?” Sam asked, approaching carefully. The girl’s eyes widened as she recognized him, but she gulped, straightened her spine, and made a curtsy.

“Yes, my prince,” she said, and her voice made her seem heartbreakingly young. “I heard you came in answer to the mind-plague, and… and my father, he has it, I am sure. I… came to ask you to come to our farm. We do not have… we are just…” She paused, and tears welled forth before she forced herself to continue. “We are just farmers, but my father was a soldier under your father, the king, and… and he lost my older brother and my mother both, and he was wounded, he gave everything he had, and now…”

“We will help him,” Sam interrupted gently. “Come, do not fear. Cas—I have cured this illness before,” he said; Cas winced that Sam had nearly forgotten not to give him credit for the cure. “This is Castiel, my squire. He helps me in my workings. How far is your farm?”

“It is an hour’s ride,” said the girl, looking downcast. “I… I know you and your horses are tired, riding all day, but I fear Father will not see morning if you do not come. My prince… please…” She wept, pulling her apron up to cover her face.

“We will come now. Upstart is still fresh. Come now, let Cas boost you up behind me; we will let your faithful mule rest here.” At his gesture, a stable hand quickly came and took the mule’s reins. Cas gave the girl a leg up behind Sam; he smiled reassuringly at the frightened look she cast his way. Cas understood, as Sam might not, how shocking and intimidating it was to have to clasp her prince about the waist, but she gamely did so. 

“What is your name?” Sam asked as Cas remounted Blue.

“Sera,” the girl answered. “My father is Jeremiah Westman, formerly of the Bastion’s third regiment.”

“Tell us what is wrong with him. When did he become ill?”

Dean, Cas noticed, had moved closer, though he wisely stayed out of Sera’s line of sight. He listened carefully as she spoke. Sam caught his eye and gave him a meaning nod, which Dean returned.

“I cannot say for sure. I thought it was just melancholy—all the old soldiers of the war seem to have that—but it grew worse a few weeks ago. He would not leave the fireside even as the winter was ending, to plow the land before planting. He does not eat, and he speaks strangely. He is not an angry man usually, but now his temper is short and—and he does not want company.” Cas glanced across at her, clinging behind Sam, and saw that a fresh spate of tears flowed down her cheeks. “He does not want my company. He keeps speaking of my mother, and how he will save her. She was killed in the last days of the war…” She paused, gulping down tears. “No medicine helps him, and today, I cannot get near him. He has locked himself in the woodshed on our farm, and I… I fear he will…”

“He will not; we will get there first. Hold tight, lass,” said Sam. He found Dean’s eye, and without saying his name, carefully said, “We will meet you on the road tomorrow. If we are not here at breakfast, ride without us." He kicked Upstart into a canter and said to Sera, “Point the way.”

They soon arrived at the farm, which showed signs of neglect. The outbuildings were in poor repair, and the cow in the corral milled about listlessly. Sera flushed with shame when she saw them peering about the dour place as they dismounted.

“He was in the woodshed when I left. That’s over—” She broke off with a gasp. Both Sam and Cas reflexively threw themselves to the ground at the twang of a bowstring; Sam pulled Sera down with him, covering her head with his arms. An arrow thunked into the corral fence, startling the cow, which began mooing frantically. The horses startled too; Upstart whinnied a warning.

“Invaders!” came a shout, the man’s voice edged with hysteria. “Get out! I’ll kill you! Get away from my daughter!”

A figure was running toward them around the corner of the house, wild-haired, dirty and raggedly dressed. He paused, fumbling for another arrow, as Sam shouted, “Stop, by order of your prince,” just as Sera was crying, “No, Da, they’re here to help!”

Jeremiah did not heed them, cursing and trying to nock another arrow, until suddenly he gave a cry of surprise and stumbled. “What—cows! Where did all these—bloody cows, _move_ …”

Sam grinned. “Good job, Cas!”

Cas, inspired by the cow in the corral, had cast an illusion of a herd of cows crowding Jeremiah back toward the house. Sera stared in bewilderment as her father fought an invisible force pushing him onto the porch of the farmhouse. 

Sam ran forward and seized Jeremiah by the shoulders. “Jeremiah! Look at me!” Jeremiah struggled and fought, but then seemed caught by the sight of Sam’s face. “Do you recognize me? I am your prince and commander.”

“Lord Sam!” said Jeremiah weakly. He slumped and caught at Sam’s arms; Sam held him up. “Thank God you’re here… they’re coming, so many, they’ll defeat us…”

“No,” said Sam gently, guiding him into the house, “I will defeat them, as I have before, with your brave help. Fear not! We will know victory.”

Cas hurried in behind them, drawing Sera with him. “We must make your father comfortable, then I will help Lord Sam in his workings.”

Gulping, Sera nodded and hurried forward. She took her father’s arm from Sam and eased him into his bed, murmuring soothingly. Cas built up the fire, which had gone to embers, leaving the house chilly and dark. Sera gasped when he willed it to life, along with the lamp on the table, and Cas remembered that small magics like these were much rarer close to the capitol. As he hurried to Jeremiah’s other side, he reminded himself to have care.

But perhaps Sera thought Sam had done it, because she watched him every second, wide-eyed, as Sam made a great show of the “healing spell,” making the fire flicker and setting the curtains fluttering while he chanted syllables Cas knew had no meaning or magical power.

This third time, Cas’s part was simple. He had come to recognize the grim internal landscape, and it held no fear for him anymore. As soon as he discreetly took Jeremiah’s hand, acting as if he were offering simple comfort while Sam muttered and gestured for all he was worth, he was plunged into darkness, and he saw its denizens harrying Jeremiah. They saw _him_ and fled immediately; Cas’s light reduced them to whining shadows in an instant. 

Cas turned to the haunted dream-figure, who stumbled in the darkness, looking for something to fight. “You must come home, Jeremiah,” Cas said. “Your daughter is waiting. There is no battle here for you.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cas heard Jeremiah say, out loud in the little bedroom of the farmhouse. Cas blinked and looked around. He swayed a little, dizzily, but righted himself before anyone noticed. Sam was speaking gravely to Jeremiah, who said, “Oh, my prince! You saved me! I was lost, and if you hadn’t told me to come home…”

Sam stood up quickly from the bedside. Cas knew he felt uncomfortable with praise he hadn’t earned. “I am glad you found the strength to return and are well, Jeremiah. You must thank your daughter for coming to find us.” He nodded to Sera, who hurried forward.

Sam turned from the tearful reunion, looking for Cas. He hurried to his side, but Cas whispered. “I’m well, Sam. It was easy this time! I feel only a little tired, and that perhaps from riding all day, is all.”

Cas knew Sam wanted to take him in his arms, but couldn’t. He peered wordlessly at him, frowning. Whatever he saw made his expression clear after a moment. “If you’re sure you’re well…”

They turned toward the door, but Sera hurried up to them. “My lords! You’ve ridden far and worked hard to help my father. You must stay! We have only a humble farmhouse, but I can make a meal, and…” A flicker of dismay crossed her face as she looked around the tiny house. “I can stuff another straw tick and put it—”

“We would not have you put yourselves out—” said Cas.

“There is no need—” said Sam in the same breath; Sam glanced at Cas and smiled at Sera. “It’s true that our horses need rest, but we can make ourselves quite comfortable in the hayloft. It will be better than we’ve slept many nights on this trip, right, Cas?”

“Yes, lord,” said Cas. “Sera, it would be my pleasure to prepare dinner while you speak with your father. I was a kitchen lad before I was a squire. You must have much to catch up on…”

A pleasant evening passed. Sam went out and put the horses up for the night while and Cas and Sera made a hearty meal of good farm fare. Jeremiah went to sleep as soon as Sera had made him eat some broth. 

They ate and talked, Sera expressing gratitude as she lost her awe of Sam. Sam asked for more details about her father’s illness, and whether Sera knew of any other cases, but soon it became clear that Sera was weary from her ordeal. She looked thin, and her eyes were dark-circled, and she lost the thread of the conversation once or twice, and finally, after a lull in the conversation, she fell asleep in her chair by the fire. Cas covered her with a blanket and they crept out of the house. The horses greeted them with soft whinnies as they climbed into the hayloft. 

Cas was puzzled by Sam’s decision to sleep there—the horses had rested while he worked the healing, and could surely have managed the ride back to the inn—until he realized Sam did not wish to rejoin the others, and would be glad to delay their arrival at the Bastion a little, as long as they were doing the duty they came to do. This was confirmed when Sam immediately pulled him into his arms and kissed him deeply once they were settled in the loft.

“Even if she or Jeremiah were to come in, they could not see us from the ground,” Sam murmured as he undressed Cas. “And the horses will let us know if anyone approaches.”

Cas needed no further reassurance, as eager for Sam as he was for him. Afterward, they lay together in the hay, sleepy and content.

“I missed this,” Sam said after a while, stroking Cas’s back languorously. “It may be difficult to find time together under my father’s eye, if we are to keep our love a secret.”

“I know. I miss it, too. Even just a kiss from you is everything,” Cas answered, and this made Sam kiss him again, and they happily kissed for a few minutes before Cas continued, “As long as you are near me at least to speak to, and I am doing my duty, healing, all will be well.”

“I hope so,” Sam murmured into his shoulder. “We must not overtax you. I hope there are not many victims. Perhaps, in the palace library, we can find a spell of… prevention? Some answer, before it spreads further. I am glad to see it didn’t overwhelm you this time—I wasn’t sure how we were going to explain that, how we’d ever make people believe it was me doing the healing if you fainted every time.”

Cas chuckled. “That would have been a challenge, indeed, if it were like the first time. I too hope that there are not many victims, but it is easier each time. And Jeremiah was far gone, even worse than Charlie perhaps.”

“You are a miracle,” Sam said, cradling Cas close. “I do hope that someday, we may tell the world so. It is worse than grating to be praised for your deeds, and then watch you work in a farmhouse kitchen after you saved its owner’s life.”

“I like the farmhouse kitchen,” Cas said simply, and Sam laughed.

“I know you do,” he said. “You love all that is wholesome and good, and you are skilled at it, and you deserve the simple, peaceful life that you desire. After you’re done saving the world—” He paused to tousle Cas’s hair playfully. “I cannot wait to return home to live that life with you.”

Cas agreed sleepily, and happy thoughts of their future at Old Winchester, of Charlie and Gilda and their children, carried them both into dreams.


End file.
